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MARJORIE’S QUEST 


BY 

JEANIE T. GOULD 

(MRS. LINCOLN) 

AUTHOR OF “ A CHAPLET OF LEAVES ” 


One loving houre 

For many yeares of sorrow can dispense 

SPEN8ER 



BOSTON 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
New York: 11 East Seventeenth Street 

(£i)e tfttoersi&e <JTamfiri&0e 

1900 



TWO COPIES RECEIVED, 


Library of Coitgre*^, 

Office o f tbt 


JUM4- 1900 


Keglotor of Copyright 


a, /^736 

( )%euj ~l/, / <? 0-0 


•eoond copy, 



62622 


Copyright, 1872, 

By JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO. 
Copyright, 1900, 

By JEANIE GOULD LINCOLN. 
All rights reserved. 



To 

MY MOTHER, 

BUT FOR WHOSE KINDLY INTEREST AND ENCOURAGEMENT THIS STORY WOUL® 
NEVER HAVE BEEN WRITTEN, FOUNDED AS IT IS UPON AN ACT OF UNOB- 
TRUSIVE BENEVOLENCE IN ONE WHOM WE BOTH LOVED AND 
HONORED, THIS BOOK IS VERY LOVINGLY 


DEDICATED. 

























* 

























CONTENTS. 


gsap tiu 

I. Thk Wheel begins to tube 1 

II. Reginald ...14 

III. Barnet’s Stort 23 

IV. Santa Claus’ Visit 42 

V. Marjorie’s Red Cross Knight 55 

VI. A New Home 65 

VII. Mrs. Marston assists Fate 75 

Vm. Horace 93 

IX. What Barnet kept 105 

X. Horace’s Revenge 114 

XI. In Extremitt 125 

XII. Regie speaks his Mind 134 

XIII. Marjorie meets a Good Samaritan 150 

XIV. What came of Miss Clive’s Whim 171 

XV. Six Years after. — Puck and Post . . ... 183 

XVI. Tableaux 196 

XVII. The Cloud begins to lift 207 

XVIII. Captain Rex 226 

XIX. Cato’s Guest 250 

XX. The Thread which Judge Grat held 274 

XXI. How Puck kept his Promise 282 

XXII. In the Rebel Camp 295 

XXIII. At Winchester 314 

XXIV. Found . . 325 

XXV The Red Cross Knight’s Reward 342 




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


—4 

Pag* 

I. Lifting the Child in his Asms 3 

II. She turned, and saw Marjorie 53 

UL “ Come here, Doggie ” 99 

IV. The Little Sleeper 160 

V. She swept into the Hall 212 

VI. “ Gentleman Roddy ! ” 267 

VII. General Clive stooped over him ..... 319 

VTIL Her Eyes fell upon Rex 352 





























































MAKJ OKIE’S QUEST. 


CHAPTER L 

THE WHEEL BEGINS TO TURN. 

TT was a bitter cold morning. The snow, which had been 
falling heavily all night, lay in great drifts on the eaves 
of the houses, and almost covered the fences, while the 
cutting north wind brought a sort of hail with it that made 
one shiver. Everybody in the little village of Wynn 
seemed cautious of venturing forth ; the very houses looked 
sleepy and cold in the semi-darkness of half-past seven 
o’clock on a December morning. The low wooden tavern, 
with its yellow doors and green blinds, seemed to be the 
only place where any life was stirring, and even that was 
confined to a small group of three people, standing hud- 
dled together in a corner of the piazza which was most 
sheltered from the wind and hail. 

“ Arrah, but I’m thinking it’ll be late, the day, whin 
the stage gits here,” said one of the three, addressing 
gaunt-looking man who was endeavoring to scrape the 
mow away from the door. 

“ I canna say, Barney,” replied the other, cautiously, 
tugging at his red worsted comforter as the hail whistled 
sharply against the back of his neck. “ I canna say. If 
Mr. Hall left Clifton at the usual hour, he’ll be here soon, 
Is the bairn going far ? ” 

“ The child, is it ? ” asked Barney, who, notwithstand- 

x 


2 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


lug his some years’ acquaintance with his Scotch friend, 
invariably translated his peculiar idiom into good, broad 
Irish brogue ; “ sure, she ’s going to Saybrooke, to Darby 
McKeon’s brother’s. Did’nt yees know that Darby died 
yesterday (God rest his soul!) and Judy, — wirra ! I 
hope yer purty little hand ’s got over the hit she give ye 
wid her dirthy slipper ? eh, Margie, darlint ? ” 

The third member of the group, a child of about ten 
years, raised her little face, and shook her head with a bit 
of a smile, at Barney’s question. 

“ O ! then that ’s the bairn you were telling me of, 
that ” — 

“ Yis,” said Barney, interrupting him, suddenly. “ Ye 
see, Sandy, there ’s sorra a bit use in spaking all that you 
know, and,” lowering his voice, and pointing over his 
shoulder at the child with a jerk of his big thumb, “ it ’s 
mighty quare and old she is fur her years, and sure, it 
would only onsettle her, perhaps, if I tould her — what 
you know.” 

“ I ken,” said Sandy, nodding his head gravely, at this 
mysterious remark. “ Weel, my wee lassie, d’ye likit to 
gang awa’ to Saybrooke ? ” 

“ Judy beats me,” said the child, briefly. 

Sandy paused in his task, and eyed her curiously for a 
second, but she did not appear to notice his scrutiny, 
except that the small, cold fingers clung to Barney a little 
tighter. 

“ Aye, ” said the Scotchman, “ yon ’s an old head on 
young shoulders, as you say, Barney. But how came you 
to send her to Saybrooke and intil some o’ the same brood 
o’ McKeon’s ? ” 

“ Whist, Sandy ; there ’s no need av going over the 
matter jist now. Don’t ye, Margie ! ” seeing a tear fall from 


THE WHEEL BEGINS TO TURN. 


3 


fche child’s downcast eyelids ; “ sure, I’ll be over wid the 
fiddle betune now and Sunday week, and we’ll have an 
Irish breakdown, maybe, all till our two selves. Faix, 
Sandy, there comes the stage up the hill this very minute.” 

Barney was right ; that black, crawling object was 
really the stage, but it took some moments for the four 
horses to toil through the unbroken drifts to the summit 
of the hill, and he employed the time in telling Margie a 
funny Irish story about a “ little red fox.” It was usually 
a most interesting story, but on this occasion it only 
brought a faint look of pleasure to her pale face, and even 
that changed into very sober sadness as the horses, after 
a prolonged “ whoa,” from the driver, finally drew up in 
front of the tavern. 

“Weel, my mon, ye were early astir the morn,” said 
Sandy, as the driver grumbled out a gruff inquiry as to 
passengers. “ I’ve only one for ye ; the bit lassie winna 
tak up much room.” 

Barney opened the stage door, and looking in, saw that 
there were but three passengers ; two of them were gen- 
tlemen, and the third an elderly starched-up spinster, 
with a blue veil tied over her bonnet, her thin lips and 
pointed nose being much the same color as the veil. She 
occupied fully two thirds of the back seat, one of the gen- 
tlemen sat muffled up beside her, and the other was 
making himself as comfortable as the snow permitted on 
the middle seat. 

“ Now, Margie, me darlint, don’t ye forgit,” said Bar- 
ney, lifting the child and her small bundle in his arms. 
“ It ’s fur Terence McKeon ye’re to ax whin ye git to Say* 
brooke, and I’ll spake to Mister Hall, the driver, beyont 
to put yees down near there. Take care av yourself, me 
jewel, an’ mind, I’ll be true to me word about Sunday 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


I 

week.’ Margie’s lips quivered a little, as she laid her 
small, white face against Barney’s big, brown one, but 
Bhe only said, 44 Good-by, Barney,” in a plaintive, quiet 
voice, as she tried to climb up the high steps. 

44 Take care, my little girl ; give me your bundle first,” 
said a clear, kind voice, and the gentleman upon the back 
seat stretched out his hand to assist her. Margie thought 
she must climb over on the front seat, as the occupant of 
the middle one did not move, and was hesitating about 
taking the necessary long step, but the gentleman still 
kept hold of her hand, and evidently meant to make a 
place for her by his side. 

44 There must be room for such a small body here,” said 
he, and as the cloak in which he was muffled fell aside 
a little, Margie caught a twinkle of the merriest, kindest 
hazel eyes she ever saw in her life. 44 There ! put your 
foot this way — now the bundle can go on the floor.” 

44 Plenty of room for it here, Judge,” said the other gen - 
tleman, finally rousing himself enough to speak ; 44 and 
room for that midge also, if she likes to come.” But 
Margie, after looking shyly at him for half a second, con- 
cluded that she would rather stay by her new friend, and 
Barney, who had by this time gone plunging through the 
drifts to the other side of the stage, addressed them 
through the window. 

44 Much obliged to yer Honor,” said he, catching the 
title with an Irishman’s readiness. 44 It ’s sorry I am to 
Bind her by herself, but she’s a purty, old-fashioned 
young one, and won’t git asthray.” 

44 Is she your child ? ” asked Judge Gray, half doubting, 
as he put the question. 

44 Sorra a bit av a chick nor a child nave I, yer Honor, 
oeing jined to single blessedness becase the fair creatures 


THE WHEEL BEGINS TO TURN. 


6 


won’t listen to me,” said Barney, with a droll wink of liis 
eye. “No, its Darby McKeon’s Margie — God rist his 
Bowl, po^r man, he died last night, — and she ’s going to 
his brother’s at Saybrooke, beyont, where perhaps yer 
Honor is going to hould court ? ” 

“ Exactly,” said the Judge, laughing at this insinuating 
question. “ I think I’ve seen you in Saybrooke ; were 
you ever up before me ? ” 

“ Niyer, indade,” said Barney, emphatically, “ though, 
begorra, yer Honor may have sint some of me frinds to the 
public lodging below, at Sing Sing.” 

“ Very fair,” said the other gentleman, as the Judge 
burst into a hearty laugh. But the impatient driver 
wrapped his whip, and Judge Gray had barely time to as- 
sure Barney that he would see that the little girl got safely 
to Saybrooke, before the stage started. 

Margie leaned wistfully toward the window, and waved 
her hand to Barney as the stage drove off ; then watched 
Him, standing in the drifts, talking with Sandy, until they 
turned the corner. Very long-drawn was the low sigh 
with which she settled herself back in the seat, and Judge 
Gray, attracted by the quiet self-control of so young a 
child, turned and looked scrutinizingly at his little com- 
panion. 

What he saw was a fair, pale face, with a certain square- 
ness about the lower part of it, a sweet little mouth, whose 
Bad lips were drawn very determinedly together, a broad, 
high forehead, and a pair of beautiful gray eyes, with long, 
curling, black lashes — decidedly the handsome feature of 
the face. She wore an old calico dress, decently clean, 
but mended in several places ; a faded red worsted hood 
covered her head, and wrapped around her shoulders was 
% white broohe shawl, very fine in texture, with a bordei 


6 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


of delicate green and white, quite out of keeping with the 
dress and hood. I have said that it was a bitter cold morn- 
ing, and certainly poor Margie was anything but fitly clad ; 
but presently, just as she was beginning to feel some very 
disagreeable shivers stealing over her, Judge Gray unfas- 
tened the clasp of his long cloak and began to roll her up 
in it. 

“ I wonder if you are too big to sit on my knee,” said 
he, merrily, as she looked up into his face with startled 
eyes. “ Suppose we try. Why, no, you’re not ! I have a 
boy at home twice your size, who contrives to perch him- 
self here very comfortably.” 

“ But I’m afraid you won’t be comfortable, ” said 
Margie, modestly, but nestling down very contentedly, 
notwithstanding her protest. 

“What’s your name, my dear?” asked Judge Gray, 
secretly surprised at her purity of accent and the absence 
of Irish brogue. 

“ Marjorie,” said she, simply. 

“ Marjorie ! Why, that ’s Scotch. Marjorie what ? ” 

“ I haven’t any other name, sir,” said she, and he saw 
aer eyes fill with tears. Then, after a pause, “ They 
called me McKeon, but that is not my own mother’s 
name. I don’t know what that was : I can’t remember. 
And I don’t remember mother very well, now, either ; O, 
I wish I could ! ” Again that look of pathetic patience 
crossed her face, giving it a strange, old expression which 
touched the kindly heart of her listener. 

“ I think Marjorie is a very pretty name. It was my 
grandmother’s name, And she was a funny old lady who 
vore a mob cap and spectacles. How would you look in 
spectacles, Marjorie, with your face all twisted up — so? ” 
*nd Judge Gray drew his handsome face into a mirth- 


THE WHEEL BEGINS TO TURN. 


7 


provoking contortion. Marjorie’s first laugh tinkled 
merrily out, and the Judge’s eyes sparkled brighter than 
ever at the sound. 

It was not a very long journey to Marjorie, although 
the horses went very slowly, and the stage got into sev- 
eral heavy drifts. Once, it almost upset, and that gave 
the passengers a slight fright at first and then a good ex- 
cuse for a laugh. Marjorie put her arms very tightly 
around her good friend’s neck and drew a long breath 
when the stage tipped so far over, but she did not scream 
or cry, and the Judge patted her head pleasantly, and 
praised her for being a brave child. And about five 
o’clock in the afternoon they reached Saybrooke ; three 
hours, at least, behind the usual time. 

“ If you please, sir,” said Marjorie, as they drove along 
the village streets on their way to the hotel, “ will you 
ask the driver to take me to Terence McKeon’s ? Maybe 
he ’s forgotten, and I don’t know the way myself.” 

“ I told your friend Barney that I would take you 
there,” said Judge Gray. “ But I think we had better 
find our supper first. Don’t you feel hungry ? I do. 
My old acquaintance, Mrs. Merrill, the landlady of the 
4 Saybrooke Arms,’ will be sure to have something nice 
for us. After supper we’ll see, my dear. Here we are, 
and there is good Mrs. Merrill in the window.” 

Judge Gray jumped briskly down on the nicely shov- 
eled path, and having politely assisted the elderly spin- 
ster out of the stage, and her various bundles as well, he 
carried Marjorie into the house, and the other gentleman 
passenger, whose name was Mr. Stevens, very kindly 
brought in her bundle and laid it down on a chair. Then 
he said good-by to the Judge, and went off down tins 
fillage street to a friend’s house. 


8 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“Well, Mis. Merrill, I’ve brought the snow with me 
this time, and plenty of it,” said Judge Gray, shaking 
hands with the pleasant-faced landlady. “ I suppose the 
lawyers are tired of waiting for me.” 

“ We’re always glad to see you, sir,” said Mrs. Merrill, 
smiling. “ And how is Miss Rachel, and Master Regi- 
nald ? ” 

“ Quite well ; Miss Rachel’s head troubles her as much 
as ever, but except that she is as usual. Regie is a great 
fellow now ; you’d hardly know him, Mrs. Merrill.” 

Mrs. Merrill had been a valued servant in Judge Gray’s 
family, and was Reginald’s nurse until she married and 
came to Saybrooke. Reginald’s mother had died when he 
was a very young child, and “ Nurse Mary ” was an im- 
portant personage in the household as long as she re- 
mained there, almost as important as Miss Rachel her- 
Belf, and she was the Judge’s sister and had presided in 
his house ever since his wife’s death. 

“ Where is the little girl going ? ” asked Mrs. Merrill, 
presently, when she had finished her inquiries about the 
family. 

“ She came with me from Wynn, and I think she is 
ready for her supper. At any rate we will have it as soon 
as you can give it to us. And — stop a moment ; I would 
like to speak to you in the hall.” 

“ Certainly sir,” said Mrs. Merrill, stopping outside 
the door, and closing it behind her. 

“ Do you know anything of a family of McKeons • 
Terence, I think, is the man’s name ? ” said Judge Gray, 

Mrs. Merrill thought for a moment, and then shook 
her head. “ No, sir. That is, not a respectable person of 
hat name ; there is a McKeon, an intemperate Irishman 
wrho loafs around here, and sometimes gets a few cents from 


THE WHEEL BEGINS TO TURN. fi 

John or me for doing chores, but he is a terribly shiftless 
fellow, and has a large family. They live in a wretched, 
tumble-down shanty in 4 Beggar’s Lane ’ — it ’s our very 
worst quarter, you know ; but John can tell you more 
about him than I can. 

“ That little girl is on her way to this man’s charge,’' 
said Judge Gray. 44 A man whom she called Barney put 
her on board the stage this morning at Wynn, and, from 
what I can gather, she is an orphan, and is coming to 
live with this McKeon.” 

44 Um ! ” said Mrs. Merrill, making a cautiously dis- 
approving sound in the roof of her mcuth. 44 Barney ? 
O ! that must be Barney Brian, a fiddler at Wynn. 1 
know him ; he ’s as good-hearted a fellow as ever lived. 
He comes up here for dances, always, or the firemen’s 
ball, and really, sir, you’d be quite amazed to hear the 
man play. Would you like to see John ? I’ll call him.” 

44 No matter,” said Judge Gray, interrupting her. 44 I 
will step inside the bar and see John myself. I wish you 
would attend to the child; and, Nurse Mary,” laughing, 
and showing his beautiful white teeth, 44 don’t stuff her 
with sugar-plums. If you do, she won’t be able to eat 
one of those omelets which I hope you mean to give me 
for my supper.” 

Mrs. Merrill smiled pleasantly, and went away to her 
kitchen to prepare the best that the inn contained for her 
dearly loved and respected master. The Judge found 
John Merrill leaning over the bar, laughing at a particu- 
larly tipsy Irishman who was trying to induce him to 
give him 44 a sup o’ whiskey.” 

44 How are you, John?” said Judge Gray, his white 
hand extended with as kind and courtly a gesture as it 
would have been to one of his judicial brethren. 44 la 
that the way you treat your customers ? ” 


10 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ No, indeed,” said John, with emphasis, smiling back 
at the Judge’s merry eyes. “ 1 never let a fellow git 
mor’an half seas over at this ’ere bar, I tell you, sir ; he ’s 
like that half the time. A pretty poor stick is Terence 
McKeon.” 

Judge Gray looked after the reeling figure as it stum- 
bled across the piazza, with graver face than usual. He 
had found an answer to his own inquiries ; surely, it would 
be cruel to give an innocent-eyed, frail child into such 
guardianship as that would prove to be. So he con- 
tented himself with asking a few questions on general 
topics, and then he went back to the sitting-room to find 
little Marjorie. 

The room looked very bright and cozy. It was evident 
that Nurse Mary’s own neat fingers had laid the clean 
cloth, and set the dishes on the table with such precision. 
The blazing wood fire and nicely polished, old-fashioned 
andirons seemed absolute luxuries when you remembered 
the storm outside, and Marjorie sat on a cricket at the 
side of the fire-place, with a placid, contented face, watch- 
ing Mrs. Merrill’s portly figure as she set the table. 

They had a very merry meal. Judge Gray was deter- 
mined to conjure away that sad, old look which made 
little Marjorie’s face so plaintive, and he succeeded well. 
Marjorie never forgot that supper. First, there was a 
nice, tender beefsteak, with plenty of gravy, and the 
Judge mashed a roast potato for her, and buttered her 
hot biscuit. Then she had a generous allowance of a 
flaky omelet (for making which Mrs. Merrill was fa- 
mous), and a large tumbler of milk, and, to crown the 
whole, a baked apple, and a slice of cake with raisins in 
it. The raisins were a mystery to Marjorie, and she 
regarded them with uncertain eyes, until, seeing that 


THE WHEEL BEGINS TO TURN. 


11 


Judge Gray ate his cake with apparent satisfaction, she 
ventur ed upon a bite, and instantly came to the conclusion 
that “ them soft black things ” were the very nicest part 
of the whole supper. 

By and by, when the table was cleared away, Mrs. 
Merrill brought in a beautiful white cat, and two kittens, 
one, pure white, like its mother, and the other with funny 
maltese spots on its tail and the tip of its nose. Mar- 
jorie got them all in her arms, and became so attached to 
the spotted kitten that when several gentlemen came in 
to see Judge Gray, she proffered a timid request to carry 
it up to her bed. 

44 That ’s just as Mrs. Merrill says,” said Judge Gray. 
44 She used to disapprove of cats when Reginald wanted 
one in his crib, but perhaps she will let you take pussy, 
for once. There, run to bed, my child, and wake up 
bright in the morning.” 

Marjorie took up her kitten tenderly, made one step 
toward , the door, and then came slowly back. “ W ould 
you mind if I kissed you, sir ? ” said she, very softly. 

For answer the little head was placed on his shoulder, 
and two warm, fatherly kisses were pressed on the little 
lonely lips that had never known a mother’s caress ; and 
although his friends were waiting, Judge Gray carried 
Marjorie in his arms to the kitchen, where Mrs. Merrill 
was sitting. 

“ See that she has plenty of blankets, Nurse Mary,” 
said he, as he went away. Marjorie gazed after him 
with a strange swelling of her heart which she could not 
define. 

“ Hum ! ” said Mrs. Merrill, as she took Marjorie up 
o her own room, where a cot had been placed for her, 
*nd began to undress her ; “ some folks don’t do nothing 


12 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


by halves. Yes,” nodding her head as she saw the sober 
gray eyes fixed on her face, 4 4 there ain’t many men like 
him ! ” 

44 1 guess he is a real good man,” said Marjorie, 
promptly. 

44 Law, child, you may be sure of that. You landed 
on your feet this time. There, dear, have this night-gown 
— biess my soul ! is that all the clothes you had on ? ” 

Marjorie colored painfully ; then she gave a sort of sob, 
very pitiful to hear. 44 1 haven’t any more ! There ’s a 
dress, and two pairs of drawers that Barney gave me, and 
an old caliker apron in the bundle ” — 

44 There ! never mind, dear,” said Mrs. Merrill, sooth- 
ingly ; 44 we’ll see about keeping you warm, to-morrow, 
and in the mean time, as good luck will have it, I’ve an 
old flannel wrapper in my bureau that belonged to Mas- 
ter Regie when he was a little boy, and I guess it will 
just about fit you.” 

The wrapper of red and black plaid was found, and 
Marjorie was so busy admiring its pretty colors that she 
partly forgot her mortification, and climbed into bed with 
a contented face, and curled down among the blankets. 

44 Stop a minute,” said Mrs. Merrill. 44 Don’t you say 
your prayers, or have you never been taught any ? ” 

44 Barney teached me an 4 Ave,’ ” said Marjorie, 44 but 
it seems to me I used to know a prayer ” — she hesitated, 
and spoke in the dreamy voice of one trying to recall a 
shadowy remembrance. 44 It was something — 4 1 pray 
the Lord my soul’ — I don’t know any more.” 

44 This is singular,” thought Mrs Merrill. 44 1 nevei 
kn^w an Irish child who could say that prayer.” Then. 
*loud, “ I guess I used to say it ; 3ay it over after me 
Marjorie.” 


THE WHEEL BEGINS TO TURN. 


13 


With folded hands and grave, quiet face the child said 
the old, sweet prayer that baby lips have lisped so often 
when they lie down to sleep upon a mother’s breast, while 
Mrs. Merrill’s kind eyes filled with tears of pity for the 
homeless, orphaned wanderer. 

The last sight that Marjorie’s sleep-laden eyes saw 
that night was the flickering candle throwing its gleam 
on the wall, and Nurse Mary’s pleasant face as she rocked 
softly to and fro with the spotted kitten fast asleep in 
her lap. 


14 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


CHAPTER II. 

REGINALD. 

M 13 EGINALD,” said Miss Rachel Gray, stopping in 
-i> her noiseless promenade up and down the room, 
u I wish you would leave the piano and sit down quietly 
for a few moments. Your father must get here very 
soon.” 

The coal-fire burned cheerfully in the grate ; and the 
mantel glass reflected a handsomely furnished room -with 
a tea-table spread in the centre of it, and the fine, snowy 
damask, and beautifully polished silver, betrayed Miss 
Rachel’s model housekeeping. No table that she ever 
had supervision of was aught but immaculate in all its 
details, — immaculate, but scrupulously, aye, even pain- 
fully exact. 

A chord or two came from the piano in a rapid cres- 
cendo that strongly resembled a bang, and presently a 
quick, impatient step crossed the hall, and Reginald Gray 
marched in, his head thrown high in the air in the way 
that was usual for that head to be when his aunt was 
especially irritating. 

He had his father’s handsome features and complexion, 
with the clearly-cut, sensitive mouth, and lovely dark 
blue eyes of his mother’s portrait, then hanging opposite 
the mantel. A tall, manly-looking boy, just sixteen, full 
of life and overflowing with fun, with the demon of teas- 
ing mischief fully developed, as poor Miss Rachel knew 
to her cost. Only child though he was, he had been 
*uled by a firm, kindly hand, and ridiculous as some of 


REGINALD. 


15 


his scrapes were he never hesitated to carry them in all 
their boyish foolishness to the father who laughed at and 
with him, even while he reproved or advised. 

“ Now, Aunt Rachel,” began Master Regie, in his most 
teasing voice, “I just want to play 4 Old Dan Tucker" 
for you, with variations. Such variations, ma’am ! There *0 
a waltz movement, and a break-down movement, and a 
banjo accompaniment with the left hand, — it’s worthy 
of Gottschalk, I do assure you. And you’re so fond of 
music.” 

44 Some kind of music,” said Miss Rachel, in her pecul- 
iarly well-bred voice, always gentle, though nature had 
pitched it at an unhappily high key. 44 I liked the hymns 
you were playing last Sunday.” 

“ Yes ? Did you ever know that the classical nursery 
rhyme of 4 There was a man in our town,’ goes beautifully 
to 4 Antioch ’ ? Our fellows did it after Greek to-day, 
and little Sims came out elegantly in 4 and scratched, and 
scratched,’ — high tenor, you know, Auntie,” and Regie 
gave an ear-splitting specimen in falsetto. 

44 Reginald ! ” Miss Rachel looked disapproving, which 
was precisely what the mischievous boy wanted ; then, 
recollecting that her remonstrance would do no good, his 
aunt dismissed the subject. 

44 Did you stop at your grandmother’s after break- 
fast ? ” asked she. 

44 Yes, and the dear old lady 4 tipped ’ me to the ex- 
tent of five dollars. Won’t I have fun out of that money ! 
I don’t know whether to get the new edition of the negro 
melodies (bound in gorgeous red covers), or a new pair of 
ikates. Guess I’d as lief have the melodies.” 

Again Miss Rachel took no notice of the saucy blue 
«>yes and curling red bps, but resumed her slow walk up 


16 


marjorie’s quest. 


and down the room, her hand over her. eyes, as was hei 
habit when thinking. Regie watched her; there was 
always something peculiarly exasperating to him in her 
quiet, noiseless footfall ; as he expressed it once, he “ did 
wish she’d walk up and down her quarter-deck like a 
man and brother, — there’d be some sense in it, then.” 

But whatever were the reflections of aunt and nephew, 
tney were speedily ended by the click of a latch-key in 
the front door, and Regie tore out into the hall, crying, 
“ Papa, 0, papa ! I’m precious glad you’ve come.” 

“ And I’m ‘ precious glad ’ to get here, Rex, my boy,” 
said Judge Gray’s clear, crisp voice. Regie threw his 
arms around his father’s neck and fairly hugged him. 
Great boy as he was, he never went to bed without “ kiss- 
ing papa,” and I think he would not have been ashamed 
to acknowledge how much he missed those good-night 
kisses when his father was away on circuit. 

“ And you, Rachel,” said the Judge, as his sister met 
him at the dining-room door with an affectionate greet- 
ing. “ How is your head ? Better ? I hope Rex has not 
been more of a plague than usual. Does the hall mat re- 
ceive attention nowadays ? ” 

Regie laughed. “ I remember it about once in three 
times,” said he, frankly ; “ but aunty can at least say 
that I leave the dirty boots in the hall. I’ve adopted slip- 
pers lately ; see, papa,” and he thrust out a foot encased 
in a brilliant specimen of worsted work, “ Granny made 
me these.” 

“ Which was very good of granny,” said his father. 

How is she ? ” 

By this time the Judge had got his overcoat off, and 
Miss Rachel rang for supper, and they all sat down to it, 
while Regie related the episode of his early call upon hi# 


REGINALD. 


17 


grandma, anl the present he had been lucky enough to 
receive. 

“ And your recitations ? ” asked Judge Gray. “ How 
does the Greek progress, Rex ? ” 

It was a noticeable fact that whatever abbreviations of 
his name other folk gave to Reginald Gray (and he had A 
school boy’s usual allowance), his father almost invariably 
addressed him as Rex. And sometimes, when a very 
tender chord was touched, he would call his motherless 
boy “ old King,” with a softness of tone that invariably 
conquered his impetuous, warm-hearted son. 

“ Ten,” said Regie promptly. “ Have not missed one 
since you went away. But I don’t like the catalogue of 
the ships, much ! Old Homer must have racked his brain 
for ’em. My Latin goes on famously. O, papa, Mr. Ran- 
som says he thinks there is no doubt of my entering Yale 
without conditions next summer : isn’t that fine ? ” 

His father smiled at the animated, handsome face by 
his side. “ That ’s very well indeed, my son.” And Regie 
was satisfied. When papa said “ very well,” it meant full 
satisfaction, — the boy never received more elaborate 
praise. 

“ I haven’t asked you any questions yet,” said Regie, 
after an interval of a few moments, during which he took 
advantage of his aunt’s conversation to assist himself 
bountif ully to marmalade. “Did you get all the cases off 
fche calendar, papa ? ” 

“ Not quite,” said his father, laughing, “ but pretty 
well down it, the lawyers thought. Rex,” pushing back 
his chair, “ I have a story to tell you.” 

“ Let 7 s have it,” was the eager response. Regie’s ap- 
petite for stories had not decreased with his sixteen years. 

“You remember what a stormy day we had when 1 
2 


18 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


left here, ; said Judge Gray. 44 I think I wrote you that 
I did not reach Saybrooke until very late. Stevens and 
X found it a pretty long, cold journey, and there were 
ouly two passengers beside ourselves. One was a little 
girl, about nine or ten years old; a little girl very poorly 
clad.” The Judge’s voice trembled slightly. He never 
could tell a story of a suffering child without real feeling. 

44 Her name was Marjorie,” he resumed, after a brief 
pause. 44 The old cloak was very useful again, Rex ; it 
kept her warm until we reached the Saybrooke Arms. 
Nurse Mary gave us a capital supper, and took the little 
girl into her room to sleep that night. The man who 
put her on board the stage had asked me to take her to a 
certain Terence McKeon, who lived in Saybrooke, but I 
resolved to inquire of Nurse Mary and John Merrill who 
the man was before I let the child go. I found that this 
McKeon was a drunken loafer with a large family, living 
in what they call 4 Beggar’s Lane,’ in a tenement, and by 
getting hold of the fellow in one of his sober fits I soon 
saw that 4 for a consideration ’ he might easily be induced 
to give up the little girl. She is 4 no kin ’ to McKeon, as 
she expresses it ; her mother is dead (Marjorie’s remem- 
brance of her seems vague, and even contradictory), and 
she lived in Wynn with Darby McKeon, at whose house 
her mother died, she says. Darby and Terence were 
brothers, and Darby died a fortnight since, and Judy, his 
wife, would not keep Marjorie any longer but sent her on 
lo Saybrooke to Terence. The only decent person of the 
cet seems to be the fiddler who brought her to the stage 
that morning ; his name is Barney Brian, and Nurse 
Mary says he is a good-hearted, shiftless fellow, who could 
make a livelihood by his fiddling if he did not squander 
bis money as fast as he earns it. I saw Barney for a few 


REGINALD. 


19 


moments as I came through Wynn to-day, and the fellow 
actually shed tears when I told him I thought of doing 
something for Marjorie. 4 It ’s the swate little darlint she 
is,’ said he, 4 and heaven’s own angels be about yer Hon- 
or’s bed if yees does a good turn for her.’ ” 

44 O, papa, will you bring her home — here?” cried 
Regie, excitedly. 

44 My dear Reginald,” began Miss Rachel, deprecatingly. 

44 1 want to consult you and grandma, Rachel,” said 
Judge Gray, turning to her. Miss Rachel was visibly 
gratified. 

44 Do you think of bringing her here ? ” asked she. 
44 An Irish child, James ? I am afraid that we could 
hardly avoid unpleasant complications.” 

Regie’s mouth went down provokingly. Miss Rachel 
had a set of phrases peculiar to herself which he knew by 
heart. Regard for his father alone restrained him from a 
most disrespectful whistle at the familiar polysyllable. 

44 1 do not intend to keep her in my home permanently,” 
said Judge Gray, quietly. 44 Of course, she would remain 
here for a while until she grows somewhat accustomed to 
the city. I thought of asking grandma for admittance to 
the orphan asylum for her. What do you think of it, 
Rachel ? ” 

44 It might be feasible,” said Miss Rachel cautiously. 
44 1 do not know whether the lady managers admit the pool 
of another county in ours.” 

44 Rubbish ! ” cried Regie, exploding. 

44 Who are you speaking to, my son ? ” said Judge 
Gray. 

44 But it is — I beg your pardon, Aunt Rachel — you 
know that granny won’t say no to a poor child whom my 
c aiher chose to befriend ; sne’d give her right hand any 
lay to do papa a service.” 


20 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ Softly, Rex. Well, Rachel, I think I can arrange it 
with grandma.” He rose as he spoke. “ I will step 
over and see her now. Stevens promised to bring Mar- 
jorie on, and I wish to write to him by to-morrow’s mail 
if possible.” 

“ But, my dear James,” said Miss Rachel, quite upset 
by this speedy introduction of an Irish child into the well- 
regulated household over which she presided. “ Had you 
not better allow me to write to Mrs. Merrill, and make a 
few more inquiries? Would it not be more prudent to 
wait for further developments ? ” 

Regie’s naughty blue eyes twinkled, but Judge Gray 
carefully avoided looking at him, and said pleasantly hi 
reply, — 

“ I’m afraid that Marjorie would grow tired waiting, and 
I shall have no good opportunity unless I accept Steveiis’ 
offer. No, thank you, Rachel, I made all the inquiries 
that are necessary. Rex, if you like, you may go with 
me to your grandmother’s.” 

Regie rushed frantically for his cap and clattered down 
the hall behind his father, regardless of the sound of Miss 
Rachel’s calm voice which reminded him that he had left 
his mittens on a chair in the dining-room. 

Mrs. Livingston was sitting knitting in a corner of the 
Bofa, with the light turned down a little in the back parlor, 
when Judge Gray and Regie walked in through the side 
door. Grandpa was up-stairs in his own room reading 
the evening paper, and so grandma improved the time 
by finishing off one of the blue yarn stocldngs for the 
orphan children at the asylum, of which the dear old lady 
kept a perpetua 1 stock on hand. 

“ Is that you, Regie ? ” called grandma, in a cheerful 
bright voice. Grandma’s voice, like her loving: heart 


REGINALD. 


21 


would never grow old. “ I thought you’d be over, foi 
Betsey made a fresh batch of crullers this afternoon, — 
why, there ’s Mr. Gray.” 

Mrs. Livingston could never bring her tongue to call her 
Bon-in-law, Judge, except in speaking of him ; she never 
called him James, and never would, probably. 

“ Are you quite well, mother ? ” asked the Judge, kiss- 
ing her. 

Regie started for the pantry in the back parlor, to 
make acquaintance with the crullers, and returned pres- 
ently with a goodly supply. He never was known to re- 
fuse cake in any form ; Aunt Rachel’s cake-crocks were in 
a state of perpetual bankruptcy. Grandma listened with 
great interest while Judge Gray told the story of his hav- 
ing found Marjorie in the stage-coach, and (to Regie’s 
infinite triumph) gave her opinion that it would be an 
excellent plan to send for the child. 

“ There are two vacancies in the asylum, or will be 
shortly,” said she. “ I will go up to-morrow and consult 
Miss Brooks.” Miss Brooks was the matron of the asy- 
lum. “ Did you see about getting clothes for little Mar- 
jorie, or shall I attend to it ? ” 

“ I gave Nurse Mary some money for purchasing the 
material, and she offered to have them made,” said Judge 
Ur ay. 

“ Mary Merrill ? O, then it will be well done,” said 
grandma contentedly. “ What does Rachel think of your 
plan ? ” 

Regie winked wickedly at his grandmother, and she 
3hook her head and began to laugh at him. Dear grand- 
ma ! how she did spoil that boy. 

“ I don’t think that Rachel will object when she thinks 
»t over,” said Judge Gray. And then grandma knew it 


22 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


was settled that Marjorie should come, and that Miss 
Rachel would be reasoned into a resigned acquiescence 
when Master Regie was out of the way. 

After this, Judge Gray went up-stairs and talked over 
politics with grandpa, which, as they were totally opposed 
in their views, was a difficult matter to manage amicably 
with the old gentleman, and Regie stayed below, and 
ate crullers, and laid plans with grandma for Marjorie’s 
amusement, and told stories of school scrapes which made 
grandma laugh till she cried. Grandma’s laughing tears 
were always a gratifying tribute to Regie’s powers of 
description, so he escorted his father home at a late hour 
in a contented frame of mind, and flying up-stairs three 
steps at a time, delivered a double knock on poor A nut 
Rachel’s door, shouting, — 

“ Granny ’s a brick ! The little girl ’s to come next 
week.” 

And then mischievous Regie rushed off to bed. 


barney’s story. 


38 


CHAPTER IH, 
barney’s story. 

* AR JORIE ! ” 

AtX Mrs. Merrill’s pleasant voice so\inded through 
the passage and np the stairs into the little room where 
Marjorie sat playing with the cat and both kittens. 

“ Yes ’uni, I’m coming,” cried she, lifting one kitten 
down carefully from the table, and tucking the other 
under her arm as she went down, the old cat following 
her, and brushing against the skirt of her dress. Mar- 
jorie’s fortnight with Mrs. Merrill had been of percep- 
tible service ; there was a tinge of color in her pale 
(heeks, and the little face was losing its plaintive, startled 
look. She turned the knob of the kitchen door and stood 
before Mrs. Merrill with a quiet smile in her beautiful 
gray eyes. 

Mrs. Merrill was not alone : a gray-haired, nice look- 
ing woman sat by the stove with her lap full of bundles. 
“ So, that ’s the little girl,” said she, in a quick, but 
not disagreeable voice. “ She ’s smaller’n I thought. I 
leedn ’t hev got more ’an three yards and a half of that 
delaine.” 

“ This is Miss Banks, Marjorie,” said Mrs. Merrill. “ I 
t^ld you that Judge Gray left some money with me to 
buy a dress and cape and a few other things for you. 
Well, Miss Banks and I are going to sit down and run 
1 them up for you, for I have had a letter from Judge Gray, 
and he says that if you are willing to come, Mr. Stevens 
will take you to the city on Saturday.” 

Marjorie's color changed rapidly during this speech. 


24 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“Going to see Judge Gray — to stay? Not going to 
Terence McKeon’s ! And Barney’s not come yet ; he was 
coming next Sunday, sure. I can’t go off without seeing 
Barney, you know,” finished the child, in great distress. 

Mss Banks and Mrs. Merrill exchanged glances. 

“ You’re a good, grateful child,” said Mrs. Merrill 
warmly. “No more you shan’t go off without seeing 
Barney Brian. He ’s coming to play for the 1 Hook and 
Ladder ’ (they have a hall to-morrow night), and he’ll be 
sure to be there. And now, just look here ; don’t you 
think that ’s a nice dress for a little girl ? ” 

Marjorie looked at the parcel that Mrs. Merrill was 
unrolling. It was a brown delaine with tiny red spots 
sprinkled all over it, very pretty and appropriate, and 
Marjorie drew a long breath of satisfaction. 

“ For me ? ” said she, in a delighted voice. “ That bu- 
ti-ful dress. And shoes ! And what ’s that for ? ” 

“ Cotton, to make two chemises,” said Mrs. Merrill. 

Marjorie sat down on the kitchen floor, and clasping 
both arms around her treasures began to cry suddenly. 

“ Bless me ! what ails the child ? ” demanded Mss 
Banks, pulling off her bonnet and fitting her thimble on 
her finger with a business-like face. 

“I — I — don’t just know,” sobbed Marjorie. “I — 
never — had such a nice dress before. And I love Judge 
Gray ! ” Mrs. Merrill patted her head kindly. 

“ There ! dear. He would n’t want you to cry, and 
this dress will have to be fitted. Suppose you stand up 
and let Miss Banks measure you for a body.” 

Marjorie had no idea what a “body” was, but she 
dried her eyes obediently, and stood up while the dress- 
maker pinned some gray lining on her frock, and cut it 
here, and snipped it there, frightening her with the size 


BARNEY S STORY. 


26 


t>f her scissors and their close proximity to her neck. 
And she also wondered, privately, why Miss Banks al- 
ways produced pins from her mouth ; was it possible that 
she used her tongue as a sort of pincushion ? Marjorie 
felt of her own tongue, and resolved to look in the glass 
when she went to bed and see if there could be any holes 
in it to hold the pins. 

All that day, and the next, good Mrs. Merrill and Miss 
Banks sat over their sewing, and Marjorie watched them, 
and finally begged for something to do. Miss Bank? 
laughed, but gave her a needle and thread and a bit of 
delaine, and she sat contentedly stitching away at it 9 
making believe that she was sewing on an apron for 
pussy. When it was finished, and tied around pussy’s 
neck, Marjorie was rather annoyed to find that she did not 
appreciate it as an apron but preferred to make a ball of 
it instead. 

She was laughing quite merrily at pussy’s antics, and 
did not hear the outer door of the kitchen open, and the 
first thing she knew a big, brown hand was laid on hers 
and Barney’s voice said, — 

“Be the piper that played before Moses, I niver heard 
ye laugh like that afore, Margie ! An’ how ’s me darlint 
this long whiles past ? ” 

Marjorie jumped up, kissed him heartily, and patted 
his rough red hair in her odd, old way, but said very 
little of the change in her future prospects until Mrs. 
Merrill went out of the kitchen, presently, to give Miss 
Banks her supper. Then the child’s tongue was free to 
run on, and run it did, in a free, glad way that delighted 
her hearer. 

“ Och ! but it ’s a lmky girl ye are,” said Barney, when 
Marjorie paused for breath. “ I knows what folks say 


26 


MARJORIES QUEST. 


of the Judge, and ivery man has a good word for him. 
even the poor divils what ’s up afore him. An’ if ye 
had to go, sure, I’m glad its wid his Honor ye wint 
ye’ll not forgit your ould friend, Barney, darlint ? ” 

“ Never !” Marjorie’s arms clasped his neck tighter 
than ever. 

“ There, acushla, I didn’t mane it. Sure, I’ll be 
coming to the city, beyont, some ay these days. An’ 
I’m moighty glad (though sorra a bit would I say it 
before), I’m moighty plased that you are laving Ter- 
ence, for, savin’ yer presence, he ’s going to the bad, 
I’m tould, and it ’s no fit place for the loikes of ye.” 

“ I never wanted to go,” said Marjorie. “ Maybe his 
wife would be like Judy, and you know she beat me 
awfully.” 

“Whist! don’t think about it. Come out intil the 
ball-room an’ hear me make music for the b’ys. That 
is, if Mrs. Merrill will let ye,” as the landlady entered. 

u It ’s Marjorie’s bed-time,” said Mrs. Merrill. “ I 
think she can hear the sound of your music up in my 
room, Barney. You can see her in the morning.” 

Barney shook his head. “I’ll have to be off to-night, 
for Jim Maguire has give me lift in his sleigh, and I 
must go whin he does. But ” — Barney hesitated in his 
turn, and cleared his throat with a vigorous cough, “ per- 
haps, ma’am, ye’d let Margie stay np a bit monger, and I 
could talk wid her ; I’ll not be going to play just yit.” 

“ Certainly,” said Mrs. Merrill, for she remembered 
that as Marjorie was to leave Saybrooke on Saturday, in 
ill probability Barney would not get over again to see 
her. “If you like, you may take Barney up into my 
room, Marjorie. You’ll be less disturbed there.” 

“ Thank ye kindly,” said Barney, rising with alacrity 


barney’s story. 


27 


fcnd taking the child by the hand. 44 Let me know whin 
the b’ys begin to come in grate numbers, plase — I’ll 
not kape her purty eyes open too long.” 

44 ’Dade, but this is nice,” said Barney, when Marjorie 
had showed him her clean cot bed, and made him open 
the closet door where her new dress hung, and tried on 
her new shoes for him. 44 Come up in me arms, honey ; 
wid all these fine things I’ll be thinking it ’s not Margie 
at all, but some other little girl. How would ye like me 
to tell a story ? ” 

44 About the red fox ? ” said Margie, climbing up on 
his knee. 

44 No ; quite a new one. Margie,” cautiously, 44 do 
you remember your mother ? ” 

Marjorie sat upright, and opened her eyes in surprise. 

Whenever she had asked any questions on that subject, 
Barney had always evaded them. 

44 Not very much,” said she, slowly. 44 Of course I 
remember the day she died, you know, — and one more.” 

44 What was that ? ” asked Barney. 

44 It must have been a long time before that,” said 
Marjorie. 44 We were in a big room, mother and me, 
and there was an old man, with white hair, and very big, 
black eyes, who was cross, and spoke in an awful voice, 
and made mother cry. I ran up to him once, and he 
gave me a push, which almost made me fall, and — I 
’on’t remember any more.” She paused for a moment, 

‘ There was a queer, big bird in the room, a gray bird, 
up c ver the door, and it frightened me. I don’t remem- 
ber any more, Barney, and sometimes I ’m afraid 1 
dreamed that. Except about the big bird ; I know I 
saw him over that black door.” 

u You must have been a * r ery little girl, Margie, toi 


£8 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


ye wasn’t more than four whin I saw ye first. And it ’a 
only becase you’re going away that I mane to tell you 
what I knows. You always was axing was you any kin 
to Darby McKeon; you ain’t, not at all. But all the 
same, I don’t know who you are, rightly. 

“It was one night airly in December, five years ago a 
couple av weeks past, and it was storming very hard. I 
had come oyer till Darby’s for a gossip wid him, and the 
night was so bad that he bid me stay till morning, and 
tould Judy to make a shake-down for me. We were all 
sitting forninst the fire whin we heard a sudden, sharp 
cry loike, — ay a child, outside the door. 

“ ‘ Howly Mary ! ’ says Darby. ‘ What ’s that ! ’ 

“ 4 It sounds like a Banshee,’ says Judy, her two eyes 
starting out ay her head. 

“ ‘ It ’s a poor unfortunate that ’s out in the snow,’ says 
I, jumping up, 4 an’ I’ll open the door and see what is it/ 
44 And wid that, I shoves the door open wid difficulty, 
for there was a big drift over agin it, and there I see a 
heap of something, all black, and a little child standing 
by it. That was you, Margie ; do you mind ? ” 

44 No, only the cold and the awful snow, and mother’s 
falling.” The child shivered, and turned very pale. 
% Why don’t I remember you, Barney ? ” 

“Because ye were sick and loike to die after that. 
That ’s why I axed you did ye remember anything ; 1 
thought mayhap you’d remember where ye was afore 
that night.” 

44 1 can’t ! ” said Marjorie, shaking her head, mourn 
hilly. 

“Well, Darby an’ me wint out, and found that the 
black heap was a woman, and we carried her inside and 
'aid her forninst the fire. We thought she was dead, but 


barney’s story 


29 


after a long while we got a sup ay whiskey betune her 
shut teeth, and by and by she opened her eyes (as swate 
eyes as iver ye see — black as a sloe, and soft as velvet), 
but she was raving crazy, and talked a quare dale of 
stuff, some in English, and more in a forrin’ tongue that 
we didn’t understand. It ’s a faver she had, av the 
brain, an’ she niver got to be raisonable agin.” Hero 
Barney paused. “ That is, not raisonable to be worth 
Bpaking of,” thought he. “ Maybe she wasn’t quite 
herself that day, nayther.” And having thus quieted 
his conscience for telling a white lie, he resumed his 
story. 

“ You called yerself ‘ Marjorie ’ quite plain, darlint, 
but ye did not seem to know any other name. And 
after your mother died ye had a faver too, and I ’spose 
that ’s why its hard for ye to remember.” 

“ Why did you never tell me this story before ? ” 
asked Marjorie, with an eager, unsatisfied look on her 
little face. 

“ Sure, ’twas no use.” 

“ Didn’t my mother have some clothes ? ” asked she. 

“ I always said ye had an ould head,” said Barney, 
admiringly. “Whisper — yes; but sure, ’twas but a 
few, and Judy sould ’em all for whiskey, except the 
shawl ye have ; your mother wore that the night we 
found her, and Darby forbid Judy to have it. But, 
Margie, there was one thing av your’s, which by grate 
good luck, I tuk away from ye. Your dress was foine 
and white, and yer purty little arms was bare, and your 
sleeves tied up wid little bracelets, loike. Anyhow, 
Niere was one ; I niver see the other. Perhaps Judy got 
it, or you lost it that night in the snow. Anyway, 
uere ’s the one I’ve had this five year, dear. And I 


30 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


want yon to tie it around your neck wid a bit av string 
and the Howly Virgin ’ll kape you from ill.” 

“ Because I wear it ? ” asked Marjorie, shrewdly. 

“ Yes ; don’t ye give it away, and if you’re afeard of 
losing it, let somebody who ’s rale good and kind to ye, 
kape it for ye till you is grown up to be a woman.” 

After much fumbling, Barney drew out of his pocket 
a scrap of paper, which he unrolled, and a little baby’s 
armlet was disclosed to Marjorie’s wondering eyes. It 
was of very fine gold, a string of small fretted beads, the 
clasp a single bead of coral, somewhat larger than the 
others. 

“ See here, Margie,” said Barney, turning the little 
bracelet over and showing her the outside of the clasp. 
“ There ’s two letters here — you nor me can’t read ’em, 
but I got Sandy Ferguson at the tavern beyont to tell 
me what them was, thinking they might be the letters 
’av your name. And I said ’em over till I learned ’em 
by heart, — ‘if. if’ Don’t ‘ M ’ stand for Marjorie ? ” 

“ Does it ? ” asked she. 

“ Sandy said it did,” said Barney. 

“And is that all?” asked the child in a sad, disap- 
pointed voice. “ Don’t you know my real name, Bar- 
ney?” 

“ No, darlint. But sure you used to ax me so many 
questions, and beside, I thought you’d be glad to find ye 
was nothing to the McKeon’s.” 

“ So I am,” said Marjorie. “ But I was certain sure ol 
that, always, you know.” 

Barney looked at her with a shrewd twinkle in his eye. 

It ’s a rale lady she is,” thought he, “ and that ’s the 
blood showin’ itself.” And then he heard Mrs. Merrill’s 
footstep in the hall, and she called him from the foot of 
lie stairs. 


barney’s story. 


31 


“ Coming, ma’am,” said lie. “ Now, Margie, dailrat, 
you mind I’ll be down to the city some of these days to 
Bee yees. And I’ll aisy find where his Honor lives, and 
we’ll have a good time when I come.” 

Then poor Marjorie burst into tears. She had tried 
hard to keep from crying, but Barney was her oldest 
friend, and her grateful little heart clung to him, fondly. 
And after a long hug, and half a dozen kisses, Barney’s 
own eyes were moist. 

“ There, don’t ye ; the b’ys will be stamping fur me 
in a shake, Margie. The Howly Virgin be about ye ; 
say one of yer purty prayers for Barney, sometimes, and 
don’t forget to keep the little bracelet careful ! ” 

Marjorie sat down on the floor and hid her little face 
in the chair, trying not to make a noise, and Mrs. Merrill 
found her thus, and took her up, and tried to comfort her. 
But the child grieved bitterly, and for two nights after- 
ward, cried in her sleep and called “ Barney ! ” thereby 
waking Mrs. Merrill, who felt so much sympathy that she 
could not find it in her heart to scold her. 

But as Barney went off down-stairs after bidding Mar- 
jorie good-by, his mind evidently misgave him, for he 
turned about and drew a small package from his pocket. 
“ Ought I to give ’em to her I wonder ? ” thought he. 
“ I promised the mother — but faix, she ’s too young yet :• 
she couldn’t begin a search for ever so many years ; no, 
I’ll kape ’em. If I gets a chance, perhaps I’ll give ’em 
to the Judge. But I dunno but it ’ud be nicer to find 
out her fayther meself ! ” So the package, whatever it 
was, went back into Barney’s pocket, and the story of 
Marjorie’s parentage remained as dark as before. 

Saturday came at last, and Marjore (though she had 
*7 no means forgotten her grief at leaving Barney) was 


32 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


enough like other children to feel greatly excited at tha 
prospect of another journey. And this time it was a 
pleasurable one, with Judge Gray at the end of it. Mar- 
jorie began to want to see her kind friend very much. 
So her grave little face had a pretty, pink flush on it 
which, together with her new dress and cape and a neat 
little straw hat with red ribbons (it was an old one ol 
Mrs. Merrill’s, cut down and trimmed over very ingen- 
iously, to suit its juvenile wearer), quite transformed her. 

“ Bless me!” said Mr. Stevens, coming into the sitting- 
room before the stage started. “ Is that the child, Mrs. 
Merrill ? What have you been doing to her ? You’ve 
made a beauty of her.” 

“ She ’s a good child,” said Nurse Mary, prudently, 
“ and a dear warm-hearted thing, sir. I haven’t done any- 
thing but make a few clothes for her (Judge Gray was 
good enough to give me the money to buy the stuff), and, 
of course, that does change her. There, Marjorie, I’ve 
put up some ginger-snaps and an apple in this little basket. 
You may keep the basket ; I guess Master Reginald will 
remember it, for he gave it to me, long ago. I lent her a 
bag for her few clothes, Mr. Stevens, if you’ll be so kind 
as to ask J udge Gray to let it come back by express, — 
any time will do, there ’s no hurry. Good-by, Margie, 
good-by ; give Nurse Mary’s love to Master Regie,”— 
and the good woman followed them quite out to the door, 
and stood waving her apron to the stage as long as it was 
n sight. 

Marjorie wished very much that Mr. Stevens had taken 
the route which lay through Wynn, for she thought that 
perhaps she might have had a glimpse of Barney, or at 
any rate of Sandy Ferguson, on the way; but this stag® 
took the direct route to the railroad, and therefore the 
lawyer took it, being in haste to get to town again 


BARNEY'S STORY. 


33 


Marjorie had never been on a railroad before, and it 
frightened her terribly, at first, when the great, black, 
puffing locomotive rushed into the station, and began to 
blow off steam. She clinched Mr. Stevens’ hand very 
tightly, and he saw that she was quite pale. 

u Afraid, eh ? ” said he, as he swung the little figure 
on the platform of the car. “ I forgot that you had never 
Been a locomotive. I should not have stood so close to it. 
Why, it won’t hurt you, child.” 

“ I’ve seen pictures of the locum,” — ventured Mar- 
jorie, timidly, as Mr. Stevens put her into a seat and took 
his place beside her. “ What makes it spit so ? ” 

Mr. Stevens laughed. “ That ’s steam,” said he. He 
might as well have told her it was Greek, and seeing 
from her mystified look that his remark was totally un- 
intelligible, he added : “ It would take some time to ex- 

plain it, and you might not understand it if I did, but 
you’ll learn all about it when you grow bigger. You need- 
n’t be afraid of it, however ; — there, we’re off. See how 
the fences and houses fly by ! ” 

After the first strange sensation Marjorie enjoyed the 
motion of the cars very much, and sat back in her comer 
very contentedly, her great gray eyes fixed eagerly on the 
landscape. By and by she began to entertain herself by 
. ooking about the car. It was well filled, and the different 
groups amused her. There was a young lady opposite, 
with a red feather in her bonnet, and a great many 
sparkling rings on her white hands. Marjorie wondered 
if she ever took them off, and whether soap and water 
would hurt them. A woman with a baby attracted her 
next. Marjorie liked babies, even dirty Patsey McKeon 
was a playmate for her ; and moreover he would generally 
tease howling when she took him. This baby had blue 


84 


MARJORIE'S QUEST. 


eyes, and dimples, and was clean and rosy ; she wondered 
if she might not give it one of her red apples to play with. 
But she was far too timid to venture to propose such a 
liberty to Mr. Stevens, so she contented herself with smil- 
ing at the baby and wishing that she dared to go across 
the aisle and speak to it. After the baby, Marjorie was 
the most amused with a little girl of apparently her own 
age, who sat directly in front of her. She had long, 
brown ringlets (Marjorie’s hair was yellow, and although 
beautifully fine and luxuriant, she fancied it was very 
ugly), and this little stranger’s hair was tied up under a 
black velvet hat with long plumes. Not that Marjorie had 
the least idea of the relative merits of velvet versus straw, 
or thought that the little girl’s hat was any more costly 
than her own ; she only saw that it was prettier and 
more graceful. And then this child had a muff, and lit- 
tle cuffs of the same fur, and a deep blue dress and cape. 
Marjorie gave one of her long-drawn sighs of satisfaction 
as she watched her. 

The time flew quite rapidly for Marjorie, much more 
so than it did for Mr. Stevens, who, after his newspaper 
had been read, composed himself in a corner and fell fast 
asleep, until a brakeman sung out “ Binghamton ! ” and 
added that the train stopped five minutes for refresh- 
ments. Mr. Stevens told Marjorie to sit still, and went 
out, returning with a sandwich, a piece of sponge-cake, 
and an orange for her. Marjorie put the orange in her 
basket, but ate the sandwich, and found the sponge-cake 
very good. She had never eaten any before, and there- 
fore it tasted better to her than cake served at a railway 
restaurant would probably prove to those more fortunate 
little girls who have it frequently upon their own tea* 
uables. 


BARNEY’S STORY. 


85 


In a short time Binghamton lay far behind them, and 
the express ran on at a speed that began to frighten 
Marjorie again. But seeing that Mr. Stevens was sleep- 
ing with apparent comfort by her side, she leaned her 
head against the window pane, and while watching the 
little girl’s nodding feathers in front of her, fell asleep 
also, and did not awake until Mr. Stevens laid his hand 
on her arm. 

“You’ve been having a good long nap,” said he, as she 
started up, wide awake immediately, and (for a moment) 
unable to remember where she was. “ Here we are, just 
coming into the depot, and I shouldn’t wonder if we found 
Judge Gray waiting for us. Ha ! I told you so,” for as 
the car stopped, a gentleman came in the door, “ Here we 
are, Judge, all safe and sound. She ’s as good a travellei 
as if she were fifty years old.” 

“ Why, Marjorie ! ” — she did not need the Judge’s ex- 
tended hand to tell her that she was welcome ; the child 
gave a cry of pure joy and sprang straight into his arms, 
hugging him with all her strength. 

“ I declare,” said Mr. Stevens, laughing, but half in 
earnest, “ I wish I had your talisman, Judge. What ’s 
the reason that the children always love you ? ” 

Marjorie could have told, but Judge Gray said it for 
her : “ For the same reason that the lamb loved Mary,” 
said he, “ 4 ’cause Mary loved the lamb, you know.’ 
Where’s the bag, Marjorie? Stevens, I’m extremely 
obliged to you for doing me the favor to escort this 
child.” 

“Not a word, I beg,” said Mr. Stevens, heartily, as 
they got out of the train. 44 Very happy to do anything 
for you, my dear Judge. I suspect we shall hear more of 
this young lady some of these days. Good-by, Marjorie,’ 
«nd he left them at the door of the carriage. 


56 


marjorie’s quest. 


Marjorie’s shy tongue was loosened as soon as the 
carriage door was shut, and it ran on in one joyous stream 
until they reached their destination. Judge Gray listened 
with a pleasant smile while she told him all about the 
journey, and the “locum,” and the baby, and the little 
girl with long curls, and lastly, her new dress. 

“ This is it, you know, sir,” said she, touching it with 
her hand ; “ it ’s bu-ti-ful ! with red spots. And my 
shoes ! ” — up went a little foot on his knee. 

“ Quite Miss Goody-two-shoes, are you not ? ” asked 
Judge Gray. “ What, you don’t know that story, Mar- 
jorie ? You must ask Rex to read it to you. Here we are,” 
as the carriage stopped, “ and there is my sister in the 
window, and Rex on the door-step. Yes, she ’s here,” he 
added, as Regie came flying down bare-headed to meet 
them. 

“ How are you, Marjorie ? I’ll carry her up the steps, 
papa, they’re slippery.” 

Marjorie looked up at him, but her timidity vanished 
as the merry blue eyes laughed back at her, and she sub- 
mitted to be carried up the stone steps. Regie set her 
down inside the door. 

“ Why, you’re a little mite of a thing,” said he, keep- 
ing hold of her hand. “ Aunt Rachel, this is Marjorie,” 
and he walked straight into Miss Rachel’s serene presence. 

“ How do you do, my dear ? ” said she, very kindly. 
Miss Rachel was always kind to children. She was pleased 
to see that the child, if she was Irish, bore none of the 
characteristics of that nation in her face, and she looked 
approvingly at Nurse Mary’s dress-making. But Marjorie 
kept Regie’s fingers in a tight clasp, and quiet as she 
Looked he could feel her small hand tremble in his. 

“ 111 take off your hat,” said he, untying the strings 




barney’s story. 37 

with unusual deftness for a boy. 44 What pretty yellow 
hair she has ; look, aunty, it ’s fine as can be.” 

A funny little smile came over Marjorie’s face, and 
Regie saw it. 44 What are you laughing at ? ” said he, 
suddenly. 

“ Nothing — only ” — stammered poor Marjorie, very 
shamefacedly, — 44 Judy called it 4 lasses candy,’ and I 
think it ’s so ugly.” 

“ It ’s no such thing,” said Regie warmly, but unable 
to help laughing at the 44 lasses candy.” 

“You had better take Marjorie up-stairs, and give 
Jane her cape and hat,” said Miss Rachel. 44 Tea is almost 
ready. There is a bed for her, you know, in the little 
room at the head of the stairs. Unless she would prefer 
sleeping with Jane. Are you afraid to sleep alone, 
Marjorie ? ” 

44 No, ma’am.” Marjorie’s eyes were round with de- 
light at the idea of a little room all by herself. 

44 That ’s right, Rex,” said his father, meeting the pair 
as they were going up-stairs ; 44 take care of her and 
amuse her.” 

Marjorie thought it was very funny to have a big boy 
like Regie pour out some water in the wash-bowl for her 
(the pitcher was too heavy for her to lift) , and then show 
her where the soap was, and open a door and hang up her 
hat and cape in a small closet. She was losing all fear 
of him ; indeed, Regie had his father’s own peculiar 
attraction for children, and mischievous as he was, was 
never rough. Beside, having no sister, he had an intense 
onging for one, and greatly admired little girls, although 
6oy-like he kept it locked up in his own breast for fear 
Re boys might 44 chaff ” him 

* Will those posies wash off ? ” said Marjorie, pausing 


S8 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


as she dried her Jiands on the towel, and pointing respect- 
fully at the flowers on the outside of the pitcher. 

“ You might try scrubbing ’em with soap,” said Regie 
quizzically. 44 Why, no, Marjorie, they’re painted. Did 
you never see flowers on china before ? ” 

44 No,” said she. 44 Judy washed me It the trough, and 
Mrs. Merrill had white — what-you-call-’ems ” — 

44 Basins,” corrected Regie. 44 There ’s the tea-bell. 
Give me your hand. I’ll ride you down stairs pick-a- 
back.” 

Marjorie was rather alarmed when she found that mys- 
terious word meant mounting her between his shoulders, 
but his arms held her so firmly that before they reached 
the bottom of the stairs she enjoyed it, and they made theii 
entrance into the dining-room in that familiar fashion. 
Aunt Rachel looked rather shocked, but Judge Gray 
laughed, and began quoting 44 Mother Goose ” at Regie, 
and patted Marjorie on the head, and gave her a hot bis- 
cuit and some oysters. She had a continual struggle with 
her timidity, however, during the entire meal. The silver 
fork with its four prongs troubled her, and she gave Judge 
Gray one of her touching, grateful glances when he quietly 
put a spoon on her plate instead; and the well-dressed 
Bervant, Jane, standing behind Miss Rachel’s chair and 
handing the dishes around on what Marjorie thought was 
a 44 great big silver plate ” annoyed her terribly. She did 
not eat much, to Regie’s concern, and he slipped a piece 
of cake into her hand as they rose from the table. 44 Come 
in the parlor with me,” said he ; 44 I’ll look out for the 
crumbs, aunty; she won’t let ’em drop on the carpet, 
Do you like music, Marjorie ? ” 

44 Barney plays, you know,” said she, 44 and he singa 
Rory O’More ’ sometimes for me, and 4 Colleen Bawn, 
uid ” — 


BARNEY’S ST OR! 


39 


Marjorie stopped short, in a perfect maze. Her feet 
sank into such a soft, soft carpet, wi th beautiful bunches 
of pink and blue flowers in it, on a pure white ground ; 
pictures, of different sizes in gilt frames covered the walls, 
and lastly, she gave a great gasp of fright as she caught 
sight of the long mirror which extended to the floor. 

“ Who ’s that little girl ? ” demanded she, squeezing Re- 
gie’s fingers very hard, and speaking in a whisper. Regie 
stared, first at her face, then at the pier-glass, and finally 
burst into a ringing peal of laughter. 

“ O ! Marjorie, you funny, funny child ! Don’t you 
know what a mirror is ? Why, that ’s a little girl whom 
you’re intimately acquainted with ; her name is Marjorie 
— there ! ” and he led her up close. 

“ Why — it ’$ me ! ” The amazed whisper cannot be 
transcribed. Then, after looking at the reflection for a 
minute, a bit of a smile crossed Marjorie’s troubled face. 
“ How nice my dress looks — and my shoes ! ” 

“ Regular girl,” quoth Regie, delightedly. “ Come, 
you’ll have a chance to see yourself often enough. I want 
to play for you.” And he carried her over to the piano, 
and established her small person in a large chair, and then 
Bitting down, ran his fingers over the keys. The piano 
was a grand action and of lovely tone, and Regie was a 
musical wonder for a boy of his age. He played remark- 
ably well, and after giving Marjorie a specimen of “Rory 
O’More,” and “ Old Dan Tucker,” he glided off into 
chords and improvising, and, finally forgetting all about 
his little auditor, played tne beautiful pathetic prayer from 
u Moses in Egypt.” 

Marjorie sat in a dream of pure delight. She was so 
aappy that she wanted to cry ; the sensitive, highly-strung 
nature was bewildered at itself. An i Regie, up among 


marjorie’s quest. 


40 

the musical clouds himself, was suddenly recalled to the 
present by a little hand on his arm, and a voice which 
Baid, — 

“ Please, please don’t ! I want my mother, — O, 
dear ! ” 

The sigh went straight to his heart. In another minute 
little Marjorie was on his knee with her yellow head on 
his shoulder, and he was kissing her, and talking so mer- 
rily that she had no idea that his eyes were full of tears. 
His own blue-eyed, beautiful mothei came back to the 
boy’s remembrance, and Marjorie’s little plaintive cry had 
gained her a place in Regie’s impetuous heart which she 
never lost. 

“ I like your fiddle,” said she, after laughing at some 
sally of his that sounded marvelously like his genial father. 

“ My what ? ” 

“ Your fiddle, — this,” touching the white keys rever- 
ently. “ It ’s every bit as nice as Barney’s.” 

“ Thank you,” said Regie, smiling at this very modest 
compliment. “ But this isn’t a fiddle, Madge (I’m go- 
ing to call you Madge, may I ? Then 111 have a name for 
you that nobody else had, just as papa calls me Rex) ; 
this is a piano. Say it after me.” 

Which Marjorie did, obediently, although she said 
“ pianner,” and Regie corrected her, and made her repeat 
it until her pronunciation was right. 

“ Come, children,” called Judge Gray, from the hall, 
“ Aunt Rachel thinks it ’s time for Marjorie to go to bed, 
and you ought to get at your Greek, Rex. Run along, 
you lazy dogs. Ill catch you,” and he sprang up-staira 
after them in as frolicsome a mood as Regie himself. 

Miss Rachel was standing at the door of Marjorie’s little 
room. “ You undress yourself, Marjorie, do you not ? 
mid she. 


barney’s story. 


41 


44 Yes, ma’am.” Somehow, Marjorie could not get 
beyond monosyllables with Miss Rachel. 

44 Good-night, my dear. Jane, tuck her in nicely, and 
Bee that she says her prayers, — dear me ! are you a 
Romanist, child ? ” 

44 A what, ma’am ? ” asked bewildered Marjorie. 

44 What sort of prayers do you say ? ” 

(4 Barney teached me an 4 Ave,’ but Mrs. Merrill knew 
the prayer my own mother said. I say that now,” said 
Marjorie, with an effort. 

44 That ’s right, my dear. Good-night again,” and Miss 
Rachel closed the door, and went softly away. 

Jane had bright, snapping eyes, and a rather jerky way 
of doing things Marjorie found, for she whisked off the 
child’s clothes in a trice, and told her, in a pert voice, to 
44 hurry up.” So, Marjorie would not say, 44 Now I lay 
me ” out loud as she had done with Mrs. Merrill, but knelt 
down by the bed and repeated it to herself reverently. 
Then Jane tucked her up as Miss Rachel had directed 
and took away the light, and Marjorie’s tired eyes closed 
and she slept peacefully as an infant in her new home. 


42 


marjorie’s quest. 


CHAPTER IV. 

SAJSTA CLAUS’ VISIT. 

w T THINK it ’s very unwise,” said Mrs. Marston, decicl- 
JL edly. “ James is so benevolent and kind that he d^ea 
not reflect what the result will be. Why, my dear Mrs. 
Livingston, you know that if that child remains much 
longer at my brother’s she will be quite unfitted for going 
to the asylum. The way that Reginald goes on about her ” 
. — Mrs. Marston checked herself prudently. Grandma 
never would listen to any disparagement of Regie. 

“ Regie is very fond of little girls,” said grandma, 
smiling. 

“ Then his admiration does not extend to his relatives,” 
said Mrs. Marston, sharply, glancing toward the window, 
where sat a very showily dressed young lady of ten years. 
' 4 But Lily is peculiar ; she has her fancies also, I find. I 
must do Rachel the justice to say that she does try to 
keep that Irish child in her place, but she is so kind-hearted 
that if Marjorie (is that her name, Lily ?) — if Marjorie 
keeps clean and doesn’t make crumbs on the carpet she is 
at liberty to roam all over the house. To-day when I 
went there after lunch, will you believe it ! I found 
Marjorie perched upon the divan in the dining-room, and 
Reginald playing on the piano for her ; yes, indeed,” — 
Mrs. Marston paused, out of breath. She was a very 
handsome, stylish woman, but, it need hardly be added, 
very unlike her brother. Marjorie had been an inmate of 
Judge Gray’s family for about ten days, and to-day (bo- 
ng the day before Christmas) Mrs. Marston had gone tc 


SANTA CLAUS’ VISIT. 


43 


superintend the Christmas tree for Regie, as was her 
custom, and was very much annoyed to find that the 
presents hung upon it marked with Marjorie’s name were 
almost as numerous as those of his little cousins. Regie 
had become warmly interested in Marjorie, and had not 
only expended most of his pocket money in gifts for her, 
but had wheedled and coaxed his grandmother into pur- 
chasing a pretty, though inexpensive set of gray squirrel 
furs for his protege, to which the dear old lady added a 
box of candy, and a pair of red yarn stockings. Mrs. 
Marston was too wise to attack her brother upon the 
impropriety of his patronage of an orphan child, but 
preferred to make a statement of her views to Grandma 
Livingston, hoping that they would, in this way, reach 
Judge Gray. 

“ Well,” said grandma, secretly amused, and reading 
disapproval of the furs in Mrs. Marston’s eyes, “ I think 
Marjorie is a very remarkably well behaved child, and 
Regie is so much older than she that I see no harm in 
their being together. Somehow, Helen, I do not believe 
she can be Irish ; her language is so very good, and al- 
though she makes mistakes in grammar, she has no Irish 
jrogue, you know.” 

“ Irish or not, if she is to go into the asylum I think it 
! very unwise to let her stay so long at James’,” replied 
Mrs. Marston. 

“ There has been scarlet fever at the asylum,” said 
grandma, “ and of course, we could not send her there 
until the danger of infection is over. Marjorie seems 
quite a delicate child ; when she had a bad cold this week 
Dr. Gibbs saw her, and he told me afterwards that she 
must at some time have passed through a severe fit of 
•llness, and added that he should be afraid of a fever and 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


*4 

its effect upon her constitution. I saw Miss Brooks 
yesterday, and she told me that there were four cases now 
of scarlet fever : why, I don’t think it would be prudent 
to send Marjorie there for a month, at least.” 

“ I am sorry to hear it. I shall keep Lily away from 
my brother’s as much as I can. I don’t choose to have 
her in such company.” 

44 Tut, tut,” said grandma, clicking her knitting needles, 
14 you don’t mean that, Helen. Good, clean children can 
contaminate nobody ; my daughters always played with 
Nurse Laney’s children, and I never found that it injured 
them in the least.” 

And grandma straightened herself a little proudly, for 
Bhe was a Vanderventer, and had as much family pride as 
anybody can have in our democratic country, although she 
was too thorough a lady to ever boast of the fact. 

44 1 suppose you will come over to-morrow night and 
Bee the tree ? ” said Mrs. Marston, drawing her sable 
furs around her throat and rising as she spoke. 44 Lily, 
run and kiss Grandma Livingston. She has been talking 
about Betsey’s crullers all day ” — 

“Dear me, I forgot,” interrupted grandma; “run into 
the pantry, Lily, and find them. There was a platter full 
of New-Year’s cake, but I imagine that Regie paid it a 
visit this morning. Good-by Helen ; don’t forget to send 
me that recipe for oyster soup that you promised me,” and 
grandma trotted out to the door-step to see her visitors off. 

Christmas Day dawned bright and beautiful, a 44 real 
perfection of a Christmas,” as Regie styled it, when he 
came rushing in to breakfast all rosy and rampant over a 
snow-ball fight with Marjorie on the door-steps. Aunt 
Rachel suggested that he should run over and wish his 
grandparents a merry Christmas, and, after he had gone 


SANTA CLAUS’ VISIT. 


45 


*he very kindly took Marjorie on her knee and told her a 
Bible story, about the Star in the East which the wise 
men saw on that wonderful Christmas morning long ago. 
Marjorie thought it was beautiful, and when she went up- 
stairs to be dressed for church she repeated it all to Jane. 
But Jane was not appreciative, and did not seem to care 
for little stories, but told her how the church would be 
dressed with greens and flowers, and how she would see a 
Btar there, in good earnest. 

“ In the day-time ? ” said Marjorie. “ You’re not 
telling me true, Jane. Stars don’t shine in the morning.” 

“ Don’t you be telling me I don’t spake the truth,” 
Baid Jane, enforcing her remark with a small shake of 
the arm she was washing. “Not a rale star, you goose, 
but one av gas, sure, and quite high up. Mind, ye look 
for it.” 

You may be sure that Marjorie did, and she squeezed 
Regie’s hand very hard when she saw the cross of gas- 
jets sparkling beneath the star. She had never been 
inside of a church in her life, and when the great organ 
pealed out, she climbed up on the seat beside Judge Gray 
and demanded in a startled and very audible whisper, — 

“ O, isn’t that a great big fiddle-pianer ! ” 

Gravity was at discount among the inmates of the pew 
at that remark. Regie nearly strangled, and even Miss 
Rachel caught the contagion of Judge Gray’s mirthful 
smile. 

All day long Marjorie’s imagination was in a most ex- 
cited state, for Regie had told her that the tightly closed 
doors of the library concealed a tree whose fruit was of 
the most amazing description. He had been full of 
Christmas and its festivities for three days, and had read 
'die story of the German “ Kris Ivringle ” to Marjorie, 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


16 

beside giving her a highly colored and imaginative picture 
of Santa Claus. Marjorie had dreamed of him for two 
nights, and had coaxed Regie to teach her the poem of 
“ The Night before Christmas,” which Judge Gray kept 
quoting, and Christmas morning she stood by the Judged ! 
chair and repeated the whole of it, very much to his sur- 
prise and her tutor’s satisfaction. 

Evening came at last ; to impatient Regie and Marjorie 
the day seemed very long, notwithstanding the Christmas 
dinner at grandma’s, where the table was loaded with 
delicious edibles, and where they finished the repast with 
a regular English plum-pudding. At five o’clock the 
family began to assemble, and there was quite a party of 
young folks. Mrs. Marston and her three girls, of whom 
Lily was the eldest ; Judge Gray’s brother, Mr. Norton 
Gray, with his four boys and one little fairy daughter of 
three years; then Mrs. Maxwell, grandma’s only sur- 
viving daughter, and her children. There were seven of 
them : Percy, two years older than Regie, a Freshman at 
Yale and very superb accordingly (that is, at home ; 
when at college he endured a sufficiency of snubbing 
from those intolerable Sophs) ; then Clara, just seventeen, 
and a very pretty girl, looking forward with impatience 
f o next year and “ coming out ” in society. Mrs. Mars- 
ton was Clara’s high priestess in all things pertaining to 
fashion, and she had been falling into ecstasies over that 
lady’s lace fan ever since she came down-stairs, appealing 
to her cousin, Meta Livingston, to know if it was not 
“ perfectly exquisite.” Meta, a simple, unaffected child 
of fifteen (Regie’s favorite of all his tribe of cousins), only 
laughed a. little in reply. Her father, Edmund Livingston 
was grandma’s only son, and Meta herself was an only 
ffiild. 


SANTA CLAUS” VISIT. 


47 


Marjorie’s timidity was holding her in an agony of 
»h ame-f acedness at the back of Miss Rachel’s chair. This 
party of children and young people were quite overpow- 
ering to the child, for the younger members of it stared 
at her unmercifully, and the boys, after the customary 
fashion of their kind, collected in a corner of the room. 
She wondered where Judge Gray could be, — she had not 
seen him since they came back from dinner. And Regie ? 
Marjorie, with trembling lip, fancied he had forgotten 
her. But when the library doors were thrown open with 
a grand flourish by Percy Maxwell and Jerry Gray, some- 
body lifted Marjorie up suddenly from behind the others. 

44 There ! Did you ever see such a funny tree as that ? ” 
said Regie, gayly, putting his arm around her lest she 
should fall off the chair where he had placed her. 

There it stood, the tall graceful tree, reaching nearly 
up to the ceiling of the room, with its boughs fairly loaded 
with all manner of parcels, and pretty colored balls and 
wax tapers to light up the whole. The party of children 
applauded loudly, and Lily Marston called out, — 

44 O, let ’s begin ; I’m sure that lovely doll with the real 
hair is for me, — is n’t it ? ” 

44 Hush, Lily,” said her mother, as Mr. Norton Gray 
came forward and began to speak. 

44 Young ladies and gentlemen,” said he, 44 before we 
take any presents from the tree I am asked to introduce 
a celebrated stranger to you who has, after earnest per- 
suasion on Judge Gray’s part, been induced to step here 
long enough to distribute his pack. He has travelled 
very many miles since yesterday, if all the stories told of 
im be true, and he has many more to go to-night to 
other houses where the children are expecting him as 
fcnxio isly as you are ; so you are requested to ask him no 


48 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


questions but let him get through with his task as speedily 
as you can. I hear him knocking at the window now 
— enter Santa Claus ! ” 

Everybody turned simultaneously toward the window, 
or the balcony, whence the sound proceeded. Mr. Nor- 
ton Gray let down the sash, and there sprang into the 
room the queerest, funniest little man you ever saw. 
He looked exactly like the Santa Claus in the “ Night 
before Christmas ; ” his beard was long and white and so 
was his hair, and plenty of snow and little icicles clung to 
his clothes. His eyes were so bright and merry, they 
twinkled and laughed and flashed at the children in such 
a droll way that every one began to laugh before he 
pulled his pack open. The pack was quite large, and he 
seemed to be bent double under it, so that no one could 
tell what his height really was, for the hump made him 
appear so short. The first person whom he went to was 
Clara. Stopping in front of her he made a droll little 
bow, and rolled in her lap, — a tiny looking-glass ! Such 
a shout went up from the children ; pretty Clara’s vanity 
was well known, but she took the joke in very good part, 
and said, 46 Thanks to your Highness,” very pleasantly. 
Santa Claus took them all in turn, pulled out bonbons 
and sugar-plums and scattered them over the floor, where 
the little ones flew for them ; he dropped a pair of skates 
at Jerry Gray’s feet, a game of lotto for little Jimmy 
Maxwell, and a large box of French bonbons in Meta’s 
lap. But when he came toward Marjorie he paused, 
gave his head a funny shake, which made an icicle fly off 
his beard on the floor, and then he turned on his heel and 
sprang toward the tree. Marjorie, who had been watching 
him in an ecstasy of amazement and delight, not daring 
to turn from her post by Regie, saw him detach from a 




SANTA CLAUS VISIT. 


49 


branch the identical doll with long curls which had been 
the object of Miss Lily’s desires, and suddenly, with a 
skip and bound, the agile old Santa Claus thrust it into 
her arms. Marjorie’s face of beatific delight was so 
lovely that Santa Claus was betrayed into a smile, and 
as the wondering child gazed up into his face, she gave a 
joyous cry. 

“ It ’s Judge Gray ! I know his eyes and his beautiful 
teeth!” 

There was a round of applause, and poor Marjorie, pale 
and trembling at the sound of her own voice, was whisked 
up by Santa Claus. 

“ You demure little rogue ! So you found me out, eh, 
Marjorie ? Come, Norton, help me off with my pack,” 
and Judge Gray straightened himself and took off his 
wig and false beard, and laughed heartily to think that 
his clever disguise had been penetrated by the quick- 
witted child. There was a little accompanying thought 
of pathos, too, and perhaps that was why the Judge re- 
tained Marjorie’s hand in his while the tree was being 
Btripped. Mrs. Marston noticed it, and was annoyed. 

The children ought to have been satisfied, for the gifts 
that the tree held were beautiful and numerous. Regie 
had some elegantly bound books from his father and his 
uncle Livingston, a set of gold studs from Aunt Rachel, 
aid a very handsome seal ring with the family crest cut 
&n it, from his aunt, Mrs. Marston, and from grandma a 
jair of fur gloves. Clara found a fan sufficiently like 
Mrs. Marston’s to make her fly up to Judge Gray and 
give him a grateful kiss, and Meta was in quiet rapture 
over a pair of gold bands from the same kind uncle, 
Everybody was satisfied exeent Lily, and the one drop 
that embittered her cup was the lovely ioll with ringlets 
4 


50 


Marjorie's quest. 


which had fallen to Marjorie. It was Regie’s gift, bought 
with the pocket money he had been hoarding, and he 
was fully repaid when he saw his little playmate’s de- 
light. 

The children wandered off, after a while, and began 
playing games, in little knots, the smaller children in one 
party and the big boys and girls entertaining each other 
in a more grown up manner. Marjorie curled herself up 
in a window seat in silent happiness, with her treasures 
beside her. She had a fine cornucopia and a bunch of 
white grapes from Aunt Rachel, grandma’s three pres- 
ents, a book in a pretty red cover from Judge Gray, and 
lastly, Regie’s doll. Marjorie thought she would never 
tire of looking at its blue eyes, and real genuine hair, 
tied with a bit of blue ribbon. Dolly had on a pretty 
white dress, trimmed with blue, and a black silk apron, 
and, — yes, shoes ! This discovery was very overpower- 
ing indeed, and Marjorie was so taken up with it that she 
did not notice that the children were gradually drawing 
near her. 

“ Le’ me ’ook at ’ou dolly,” said Patty Gray, edging 
up with a pretty smile. 

“Yes, you may,” said Marjorie, smiling back at the 
winning face. “ But be careful ; don’t let her fall, 
please ” 

Emma and Cassie Maxwell, little girls of ten and 
iwelve, came next, and begged for the same privilege, 
which Marjorie shyly accorded, and then Lily crossed 
over and joined the group. 

“ Who gave you the doll? ” asked she in rather a rude 
voice. 

“ Regie,” said Marjorie, all her timidity returning wit! 
more painfulness than ever under the gaze of Lily’s sharr 
clark eyes. 


SANTA CLAUS’ VISIT. 


51 


“ I don’t care, I think Regie o iglit to have given it to 
me instead of that game. I hate games,” said Lily, pet- 
ulantly. 

“ Why, ain’t you ashamed, Lily Mars ton ! ” said her 
cousin Emma. 

“ No, I ain’t, one bit. And I don’t see what Regie 
wants to give a real beauty of a doll like that to a com- 
mon Irish girl ! ” 

Lily had spoken rather too loudly in her anger, for a 
hand came down on her shoulder swiftly, and a hot 
impetuous voice cried, — 

“ Lily Marston, you ought to be ashamed of yourself ! 
Marjorie ’s more of a lady than you are, I can tell you, if 
she is Irish.” 

The older members of the company paused in their 
busy conversation, and Judge Gray spoke across the 

! room, — 

“ Rex, my boy, what ’s that ? ” 

“ Why, here ’s Lily Marston calling Marjorie names. 
Aunt Helen, won’t you please speak to her. Marjorie is 
your guest, papa, just as much as any of them, and I 
don’t see why Lily should be rude to her.” 

“ I’m not ! ” burst in Lily, pale with passion. “ Mamma 
told Grandma Livingston yesterday that she was a com- 
mon Irish child and that I shouldn’t come here while she 
Stayed — there ! And you may just take back your old 
game, Mr. Regie, I don’t want it.” 

“ Lily, Lily ! ” said her mortified mothei 
“ Lily ! ” her uncle James’s voice was stem enough to 
make even the angry child pause, — “I am ashamed of 
you ! To speak unkindly to a little orphan child, whc;has 
never had a doll in her life never let me hear you say 
such n thing ag?in.” 


52 


marjokie’s quest. 


“ You may go up-stairs and stay until the carriage 
comes,” said her mother, very angry at having her un- 
guarded remark repeated in public. “ I hope, James, 
that you are not vexed with me $ ” lowering her voice, 
carefully. 

“ Your aristocratic proclivities again, Helen,” said 
Judge Gray. “Vexed, no, but you see the result of such 
training for a child.” 

“ I shall punish Lily,” said his sister frigidly. “ But 
you are too philanthropic. You don’t think of the con- 
sequences.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” and the old, sunny smile told that his 
momentary anger had passed. “ I am not afraid that 
Regie will be contaminated. Let me help you to some 
oysters.” 

Grandma smiled comically as she caught the last re- 
mark, and rising, went to look for Marjorie and Regie. 
She found them sitting on the stairs, Marjorie crying 
bitterly, with her head buried in the boy’s arms. 

“ Highty tighty ! ” said grandma, cheerfully, “ this will 
never do. Why, Marjorie, you haven’t done anything 
wrong. Never cry, unless for being naughty.” 

“Am I so very different from other folks ? ” asked the 
child, forgetting her timidity in her excitement. “ I’m 
not Irish ! The McKeons were Irish, but my own mother 
was not.” 

“No, I do not believe she was,” said grandma, quietly. 

She was thinking that this deep feeling, sensitive, 
proud nature was likely to receive many hard knocks in 
:ts battle with the world. 

“ She had no right to speak so, — no right ! ” cried Mar 
orie, the sense of injustice rankling still. 

“ There, Madge ; my dear, darling Madge, you shall 



“SHE TURNED, AND SAW MARJORIE.” 






SANTA CLAUS’ VISIT. 


55 


not shed another tear,” said Regie. “ If y m do, I’ll cut 
off every one of dolly’s curls and she’ll be like little Bo- 
peep’s sheep.” 

Marjorie smiled. Regie’s comical voice was irresistible. 

“ Where is all my family ? ” called Judge Gray from 
the library door. “ Rex, bring that child here. She is 
to sit on Santa Claus’ knee and eat ice-cream ; it ’s not 
every one who can eat supper with Santa Claus. What 
does my little girl say to that ? ” 

And he carried her off and sat down with her between 
Meta Livingston and Emma. Meta was a lovely little 
girl, and felt very sorry for Marjorie’s mortification, so she 
talked very pleasantly to her while they were eating, and 
Bhe and Emma helped Marjorie to undress the doll, and 
Bhowed her how to put the clothes on again. After that 
Judge Gray proposed a game of “ blind-man’s-buff,” and 
offered to be the blind man; and such screaming and 
laughter and fun as they had it is not possible to describe. 
But during the game, Mrs. Marston sitting beside grand- 
ma in a decidedly moody frame of mind, felt a little hand 
pull her sleeve, timidly. She turned, and saw Marjorie 
. Btanding by her chair, her downcast face almost crimson. 

“If you please, ma’am,” she stammered, terribly 
alarmed at her own daring, “might I — would you call 
Lily down again ? ” 

“Why do you ask me?” said Mrs. Marston, very 
much surprised. 

“Because” — gaining a little courage from grandma’s 
hind eyes — “she — she must be sorry to miss the fun 
rlown here — and I don’t mind, ma’am, at all, because 
I’m not Irish, you know.” 

It was said with quiet, natural dignity, and Mrs. Mars- 
ton stared at the blushing face in greater surprise than 


ever. 


54 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ Lily ought not to have spoken so,” said she. “ Yes, 
[ will send for her since you have asked.” 

But as Marjorie was going quietly away, grandma drew 
her toward her and gave her a hearty kiss. 

“ You are a good child,” she said, tears in her bright 
black eyes. “ And God takes care of good, kind, forgiv- 
ing children, always ! ” 

Miss Lily made her appearance after a while, looking 
decidedly sulky, but as nobody took any notice of it, the 
sulkiness passed away after a time, and she joined in the 
games as blithely as any of them. The children voted 
this the very best Christmas tree they had ever had, and 
flocked around Judge Gray for a joyous good-night, and 
he packed them all into their carriages with a kiss and 
a funny speech for everybody. 

But when Marjorie said her prayers that night, after 
putting her doll snugly in bed, she smiled happily to her- 
self as she remembered what grandma had said. 


MARJORIE’S RED CROSS KNIGHT. 


55 


CHAPTER V. 

Marjorie’s red cross knight. 

K T) EGINALD, do you know where Marjorie is ? ” asked 
Miss Rachel, coming into the library where Regie 
Bat poring over a pretty tough bit of Greek. 44 I am going 
over to see your Aunt Livingston, and I thought Marjorie 
might like to go with me and see Meta. You know she 
promised to show her the baby house.” 

“ Marjorie ? O, she ’s up in my room, aunty. I haven’t 
Been you since dinner,” said Regie, tossing down his 
book with a merry laugh ; “ I must stop studying long 
enough to tell you her last funny speech. It ’s quite good 
enough for 4 Harper’s ’ or any of the newspapers.” 

Miss Rachel smiled indulgently. She was growing 
quite fond of hearing of Marjorie’s quaint blunders. 

44 1 was sitting down here,” said he, 44 and I found I 
wanted my Latin dictionary, so I ran up after it. The 
little monkey had made a sort of barricade of chairs in 
one corner of my room, and tied a pillow-case under her 
chin — she was playing church, you know, — and there 
she was, mounted upon top of the pile, and when I came 
tearing in she looked up at me, with the gravest face 
imaginable. 4 O, Rex,’ said she, 4 1 was just coming down 
after you. I’m the clergyman, you know ; won’t you come 
and growl while I pray ? ’ ” 

44 What ? ” asked Miss Rachel, bursting into a laugh. 

44 Just what she said, aunty ; she found she couldn’t 
pray and make responses both,” pursued Regie, as plainly 


56 


HARJORIE'S QUEST. 


as he could for laughing, “ so she wanted me to do the 
4 growling ! 9 If I don’t think that ’s the best hit at our 
indistinct Episcopal responses that I ever heard in my 
life. Didn’t papa just roar when I told him I ” and 
Regie chuckled at the recollection. 

“ She is certainly the oddest child I ever saw,” said 
Miss Rachel, when she had finished laughing. “ As I am 
rather tired, Reginald, you may go up and call her. Tell 
her to dress warmly, the day is cold.” 

Regie rushed up-stairs in his usual headlong fashion, 
and found Marjorie playing with her doll contentedly in 
his room. That, by the way, was her place of refuge ; 
Regie always welcomed her, and had so many stories to 
tell her, and odd nicknacks to show her, that she began 
to regard his sanctum as a sort of fairy-land. She was 
quite pleased at the idea of a walk with Miss Rachel and 
a call upon Meta ; and after putting dolly into the easy- 
chair, she took Regie’s hand and ran down to her room, 
where, as he often did, he took down her cape from the 
closet nail, and tied her hat strings neatly under her chin. 

Marjorie took Miss Rachel’s hand and trotted along 
very contentedly. She was beginning to grow accustomed 
to city sights and sounds, and they did not frighten or 
puzzle her as they did at first. She had been at Judge 
Gray’s for what seemed to her a very long time ; it was 
the first of February now, and the scarlet fever at the 
orphan asylum had prevented her going there before this. 
But she was to go at the end of the week, and she 
nought rather soberly, as she walked along through the 
mow, of a new home and new faces, and tears gathered 
in her eyes when she remembered how she would miss 
Regie and Judge Gray. For the Judge had frolicked and 
Dlayed with her almost as much as Regie, and she loved 


MARJORIE’S RED CROSS KNIGHT. 57 

him with an intense, passionate love which she could feel, 
but not analyze. 

Miss Rachel talked to her kindly, and she began to 
feel more cheerful as she watched the sleighs dashing by 
with their lively looking occupants, fast horses, and merry 
bells. Presently they had a smile and bow from Clara 
Maxwell, riding with a party of girls, and then they met 
Grandma Livingston’s substantial establishment, with 
large bay horses, and black and white robes, and old 
black Pompey on the box. 

Grandma spoke to Pompey when she saw Miss Rachel 
and Marjorie ; he turned the horses up to the curb-stone 
and the sleigh stopped beside them. 

“ Pretty cold day for little folks to be walking,” called 
out grandma, beckoning to them. “ Jump in, both of 
you ; I’ll take you where you want to go. Is Mr. Gray 
using your sleigh, Rachel ? ” 

“ One of the horses is sick,” said Miss Rachel, accept- 
ing the invitation, and helping Marjorie up the step. 
u We are going to Mr. Edmund Livingston’s. Meta 
wanted me to bring Marjorie to see her.” 

“ I am going to leave a note there,” said grandma. 
“ You won’t take me out of my way at all. How is 
Regie ? I was quite anxious about that sore throat.” 

“He never takes any care of himself,” said Miss Rachel. 
“ His father doctored him last night, however, and he is 
much better to-day. There is Helen,” as Mrs. Marston’3 
sleigh flew past them. Lily was on the back seat, gayly 
dressed, as usual ; she gave Marjorie a cool nod, but 
kissed her hand to grandma. 

Marjorie liked sleighing, especially on such a wide 
avenue, where there seemed to be no end to the stream of 
Weighs, and she was a little sorry to find how quickly they 


58 


MARJORIE S QUEST. 


were at Meta’s door. Meta’s own sweet face was look* 
ing out of the window, and she came running out to ike 
door to meet them. 

“ Mamma will be very glad to see you, Miss Gray,’ 
said she. “ You were very kind to bring Marjorie this 
afternoon. I have been obliged to stay in because of a 
slight cold ; papa is so much afraid of my getting a cough. 
Mamma, here are two visitors ; this is little Marjorie.” 

Mrs. Livingston was lying on a sofa, and Marjorie 
thought she was very pretty ; but oh, so pale. She bad 
been a great invalid and had not walked across the room 
for many months, but her voice was very soft and pleas- 
ant, and she took Marjorie’s hand in her own transparent j 
one, and asked the child several questions, full of kindly 
interest. Miss Rachel drew up a chair and seated herself 
close at Mrs. Livingston’s side, and Meta taking Marjorie 
by the hand, went up-stairs. 

“ How ’s Regie ? ” asked Meta. “ I haven’t seen him 
since last Sunday.” 

“ He had a sore throat,” said Marjorie, “and he took 
some black stuff last night ; I tasted it, and it was hor- 
rid.” 

“ That was obliging of you,” said Meta, laughing. 

: ‘ This is my room. Isn’t it pretty ? Papa got the new 
carpet and paper, and mamma gave me those pictures 

Night and Morning ’) for Christmas.” 

“ And all those books? ” asked, Marjorie, standing in 
admiration before the book-case with its neatly filled 
shelves. “ You must be a very smart girl to know ai 1 
those. I am only at words of three syllables.” 

“ I think you get along very fast. Regie teaches you 
Juesn't he ? ” 

11 Ye s, and Judge Gray, and — sometimes — Mis# 


Marjorie’s red cross knight. 59 

Rachel, O ! ” and Marjorie stood transfixed with ie- 
light in front of a genuine baby-house. 

She had never even imagined anything of the sort. It 
was over four feet high, and was in fact a complete little 
house, with all its appointments. There was the kitchen 
with its stove and dresser all filled with cooking utensils ; 
the pantry, too, with dishes, and a doll dressed as a cook 
Bitting bolt upright in a chair beside the table. There 
was the parlor, and dining-room, carpeted and furnished, 
one, in blue and yellow, and the other in red. Ther6 
was even a tiny piano in the parlor which wound up in 
some mysterious way, and played two tunes, and long 
glasses, like the one which had given Marjorie such a 
fright the first time she saw herself in it at Judge Gray’s. 
On the second floor were three bedrooms, and another 
hall, with a staircase, leading up to the rooms in the 
attic; 44 for the servants,” as Meta said. It was a beau- 
tiful French plaything, and as Meta had kept it very 
carefully, nothing had become broken or tarnished. She 
allowed Marjorie to see every part of it; and they had 
a merry time overhauling the furniture and pretending 
that it was time for 44 house-cleaning.” 

44 There ’s Miss Gray calling us,” said Meta, at last 
Btarting up. 44 Marjorie, I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll 
make a new hat for Seraphina ; it ’s most time for a 
spring bonnet you know.” 

I 44 Will you ? ” The glad, grateful color flew into Mar- 
jorie’s face. “ What will you make it of ? ” 

44 Pink, or blue, whichever you like best.” 

44 Well, pink, please. Her dress is blue ” — 

5 “ Then I’ll make the hat blue and put pink rosebuda 

5 n it. Miss Gray, are you tired waiting for us ? ” 

44 O, no ! ” said Miss Rachel ; 44 your mother and 1 
ua *e had a very pleasant talk.” 


60 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ Why here ’s Pompey,” said Meta, looking out of the 
window. “Did you expect the sleigh ? ” 

“No, but your grandmother has been kind enough to 
Bend it back for us; come, Marjorie. Good-by, Meta,” 
and Miss Rachel kissed Mrs. Livingston, and her little 
daughter attended them to the door. 

When Marjorie got home after her drive she ran off to 
find Regie and told him all about her call, and Meta’s 
promise to increase Seraphina’s wardrobe. Regie lis- 
tened kindly, as he always did, and then carried her off 
to tea, and was particularly attentive to all her little 
wants during that meal. 

The fact was, Regie was feeling a little blue, though 
he would not have confessed it for the world. His 
father had told him that afternoon that Marjorie must 
go to the asylum the next day, and (although Regie 
knew that it was probably the best plan) he did not like 
to think how much he would miss her. The boy had 
such a loving heart, and Marjorie, with her quaint ways 
and bright speeches, and her utter loneliness, had ap- 
pealed to him in the tenderest possible way. He did 
not say much about it, even to his father, but he was 
very loth to lose her, and he resolved that he would see 
as much of her while at the asylum as possible. 

“ Come into the parlor, Madge,” whispered he, after 
tea ; “let ’s have some music.” 

“ Yes,” said she, hesitating. “ But — Regie — do you 
mind waiting a little while for that? You heard what 
your father said — about to-morrow,” — Marjorie’s lips 
began to tremble. 

“ That you were going to the asylum 1 ” said Regie 
hastily. “ Yes, I know, but that ’s only five blocks off 
and I shall see you often. What shall we do, then 
instead of the music ? Play lotto ? ” 


marjorie’s red cross knight. 


61 


Marjorie shook ner head. “ I ’d like to hear more 
about what you were telling me last night. Don’t you 
remember ? about the stars and Satan ” — 

“ Saturn,” said Regie, laughing. “ So you liked my 
Astronomical lecture, did you ? Come along, we’ll go up 
in papa’s room, that ’s the best view, out of the back 
windows.” 

Regie perched himself in a chair, and mounted Mar- 
jorie upon the window ledge, and began to talk to her 
very pleasantly. He was extremely fond of astronomy, 
and already looked forward to having a telescope for 
studying the heavens, and he had his father’s simple 
I tact in making everything entertaining and intelligible 
to a child. Marjorie’s mind was a quick one, and she 
listened with eager attention while Regie told her of the 
Great Bear and his smaller counterpart, and the Polar 
Star and its uses ; how the woodmen and the mariners 
turned to it for guidance ; and then, wandering off, he 
told her a pretty story about the lost Pleiad. Just then 
a brilliant star shot swiftly across the heavens and 
flashed out of sight. 

“ O ! What was that ? ” cried Marjorie. 

“ A shooting star. There is a pretty German super- 
stition (that means a belief in signs and wonders), that 
when star darts across the sky like that, a soul has 
gone home to God. You ought to wish on a falling star, 
Madge — O, quick — there ’s another.” 

“Well,” said Regie, after a pause, looking down into 
the sober little face by his side. “ I wished. What did 
’ you wish, Madge ? ” 

I “ That I might find my father,” said she, sighing. 
Regie started, and checked his whistle of amazement 

“ What do you know about him ?” asked he. 


62 marjorie’s quest. 

“ Nothing !” A large tear rolled slowly down hei 
cheek. 

“ What made you wish, then ? ” 

“ Because — somehow, I don’t believe he ’s dead. I 
feel it here,” and she laid her hand on her bosom. 

“Do you remember him ? ” asked Regie. 

“ No. And my mother only a little ; the night she 
died, — but Barney told me about that ” — 

Regie was intensely interested. He was quite confi- 
dent that his father had heard nothing of Marjorie’s 
recollections, and if there was any mystery about her he 
meant to try to fathom it. So, bit by bit, he drew the 
whole story from Marjorie, as Barney had told it to her ; 
and at last, she untied the little bracelet from its ribbon 
on her neck and showed it to him. 

“ I’m so afraid I’ll lose it,” said she. “ Barney told 
me if I kept it the Holy Virgin would take care of me, 
but you don’t believe in the Holy Virgin, Regie — so I 
sha’n’t ! ” 

Regie smiled. “ I don’t pray to her,” said he. “ You 
are going to be a little Protestant now, and pray to 
God, ‘ Our Father,’ you know; not to the saints. But, 
Madge, I’m puzzled to know what to say to you about 
your bracelet. It might help you to find your father ” — 

“ Would it ? ” cried she, with a scream of joy. # 

“ I’m not sure, dear,” said he more cautiously. “ At 
all events you must not lose it. I tell you what ; — I’ll 
take it, and lock it up in my strong box for you until you 
get to be a big girl, and then we’ll search for your 
father. I mean to set to work and find out who you 
really are,” said the boy, resolutely. Like a young 
knight of olden time, he wished he could sally forth 




MARJORIE’S RED CROSS KNIGHT. 63 

armed cap-a-pie, to roam over the world and discover the 
hidden links of Marjorie’s history. 

u There was a story written ever so long ago, Mar 
jorie, by a poet named Spenser, about a maiden whom 
he called the ‘ faire Una,’ and her protector and defender 
was a certain Red Cross Knight. You remember those 
pictures I showed you last week of the knights in armor ; 
well, like that, with a red cross on his shield. Don’t 
cry, Madge, darling; I’ll be your Red Cross Knight — 
see if I won’t ! Only,” a sudden boyish blush crossing 
his handsome, animated face, “ don’t you tell any one I 
said so. How the fellows would laugh at me ! ” 

“For taking care of me?” said the plaintive voice 
beside him. 

“No, dear; not exactly. You must try and think, 
often, about the time you speak of when you were in the 
room with the queer bird, and see if you cannot recollect 
more. But come, Madge, we won’t think of it any more 
to-night, or our friends, the stars, either. I’ll carry you 
down-stairs if you like, and we’ll have our game of lotto.” 

Marjorie held up her little face to be kissed, and whis- 
pered, “ Don’t you tell any one , Rex, about the bracelet.” 

Regie promised, and rummaged in his closet until he 
found a dissected map with a remarkable picture of the 
story of the old woman who went to market to sell some 
geese, which he dragged out and took down-stairs to 
amuse Marjorie. And after that Judge Gray took her 
on his knee, and told her a story, and then Regie played 
for half an hour for his father and her, ending with Mar- 
jorie’s favorite, the beautiful, grand prayer from “ Moses 
n Egypt.” 

So Marjorie’s last evening at Judge Gray’s passed away, 
ud when she fell asleep she dreamt that she had found 


64 


marjorie’s quest. 


her father, and that he was a knight in black armor with 
a huge red cross on his bright shield ; and that when she 
ran up to clasp her arms around his neck, the iron visor 
fell off, and there was Regie’s handsome, mischievous fao€ 
laughing at her, instead. 


A NEW HOME. 


65 


CHAPTER VL 

A NEW HOME. 

E ARLY the next morning, just after her breakfast, 
grandma ordered her sleigh, and drove over to Judge 
Gray’s. She thought that, under the circumstances, it 
would be best for her to take Marjorie to the asylum, in- 
stead of letting the child go with Miss Gray. She found 
Marjorie in a corner of the library, beside the fire, very 
pale, very quiet and sad, with the old mute look of pa 
tience written in every fine of her face. Regie had bolted 
his breakfast in great haste and rushed off to a recitation, 
thereby making his good-by a very hurried one ; indeed, 
he felt it too much to do anything else. Judge Gray was 
holding court that week, but although he, too, went out 
directly after breakfast, he found time to take a rosy- 
cheeked apple and a large sweet orange from the fruit- 
basket, and put them in Marjorie’s pocket with . a mis- 
chievous laugh, and a quotation from “ Mother Goose ” : 

“ Sally McGee, my mammy’s maid, 

She stole oranges, I am afraid : 

Some in her pocket, and some in her sleeve, — 

And she stole oranges, I do believe! ” 

Whereat, Marjorie was fain to smile also, and then the 
Judge kissed her, pinched her cheek, and told her to “ keep 
her face clean,” and hurried away to the court room where, 
* by the way, he was never known to be behind time. 
I Regie, who used to accompany his father there frequently, 
' me day, to his great glee, overheard a lawyer from a 
| neighboring city say to a by-stander, with a shrug of hia 

5 


66 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


shoulders, “No hope of my case being postponed to-day 
I see you’ve got Promptness on the bench.” 

“All ready, Marjorie?” said grandma, bustling in 
with such a bright, cheery face that one almost smiled to 
see it. 

“ Have you got her clothes ready, Rachel ? Come to 
think of it, you know she will have her gingham frock 
and apron like all the rest of the children ; this dress will 
be kept for visiting.” * 

“ I have put in the underclothes which James wanted 
me to have made for her,” said Miss Rachel. “ I did not 
Bend that brochd shawl which she wore the day James 
found her. It can be of no use to her now, and so I told 
her that I would put it away for her. Indeed,” lowering 
her voice, “ it is such a fine, pretty one that I cannot ac- 
count for its being in her possession at all.” 

“ Hum ! ” said grandma, reflectively. “ You are quite 
right. I will look at it some day when I am not in such 
a hurry. Come, Marjorie ; I guess that Pompey will be 
cold sitting out there.” 

Miss Rachel kissed Marjorie very kindly, and went as 
far as the door with them, and actually stood in it and 
nodded to them until the sleigh turned the corner. With 
all her queer, odd, fussy ways, Miss Rachel was a very 
good woman, and she had taken quite a liking for the 
little waif. 

The orphan asylum so often alluded to, stood in quite 
a commanding position, on a hill overlooking the city. It 
was a large brick building, and Marjorie thought she had 
never seen so many windows before. On the southeast 
side was. a play-ground ; grandma showed her where it 
was, but it was quite empty now, as the children were in 
the school- room. A tidy looking girl opened the door 


A NEW HOME. 


67 


and grandma walked down the long hall into a room at 
one end of it^ while Marjorie came timidly behind her. 

“ Is that you, Mrs. Livingston ? ” said a hearty voice. 
“ I didn’t expect you quite so early. And this is the 
little girl ? How do you do, my dear ? What ’s your 
name ? ” 


I 


Marjorie gave her hand, and ventured to look up in the 
matron’s face as she did so. She thought she had never 
Been such a large woman. Miss Brooks was very stout as 
well as very tall, and as she seldom moved from her chair, 
and walked as little as she could possibly help, her stout- 
ness did by no means decrease with her years. But she 
had such a good, kind face ; Marjorie drew a step nearer 
to the arm-chair as she met the gaze of the bright black 
eyes fixed on hers. 

“ A case for adoption,” said Miss Brooks, eying her, 
and nodding her head emphatically. “ You won’t stay 
long. Just the kind, Mrs. Livingston ; the quiet ones al- 
ways go off soonest. And this one isn’t half as homely 
as she might be, neither. What ’s this in your arms, 
Marjorie ? ” 

“ Seraphina, ma’am,” said Marjorie. 

“ A doll, to be sure, — what a pretty one. I’ve got 
such a nice place for her in this drawer ; see,” and Miss 
Brooks opened one at her elbow as she spoke. 

The prospect of being without Seraphina untied Mar- 
jorie’s tongue. “ O, please ma’am,” ventured she, “ can’t 
I keep her ? She ’s all the company I’ve got.” 

“ You’ll have ever so many little girls for company,” 
said Miss Brooks “ And you can have her to play with 
every Saturday. We don’t give the children toys every 
iay, because they have to study (learn to read and write, 
vou know), and then, after lessons, I want them to exercise 


68 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


in the open air. But I will keep her very carefudy, my 
dear, and sometimes, when you come in my room, I will 
let you have her, certainly.” 

Marjorie stood very still, but grandma saw her eyelids 
quiver. 

44 Come, come,” said she, “ Marjorie and I want to go 
into the school-room.” 

Miss Brooks led the way, and as they drew near the 
door, Marjorie heard a confused murmur of voices, and 
then as it opened, a sudden hush, followed by the rising 
of all the children as they saw Mrs. Livingston enter. 
Such an army of blue-coated, gingham-aproned children ! 
An hundred and fifty pairs of eyes turned full upon poor 
Marjorie, staring as children alone can stare ; no wonder 
she shrank behind portly Miss Brooks and wished that 
the floor would open and hide her from their scrutiny. 

44 Good-morning, children,” said grandma. 44 I’ve 
brought another little girl here to-day. Sarah,” to Miss 
Brooks, 44 1 think you might put her at the desk with 
that little girl whom Mrs. Peters got admission for.” 

44 Just as well as not. Come here, Joey.” 

In answer to Miss Brooks’s call, a little girl, somewhat 
taller than Marjorie, left her desk and walked toward 
them. She had the reddest possible hair, which being 
very thick stood out in bushy curls all over her head, but 
her face was very bright and laughter-loving, and she had 
a most mischievous pair of black eyes. 

44 This is Marjorie,” said Miss Brooks, as Joey paused 
m front of them. 44 She will sit at your desk, and you 
can show her where your lesson is.” 

44 The children look very well and happy,” said grand 
ma, looking down at the rows of little faces. 44 Now, be- 
fore I go I want to hear you all sing.” 


A NEW HOME. 


69 


A smile ran around, and there was a dive for song-books. 

“ Children,” said Miss Hannah, the teacher, tapping 
her desk to call attention. “ You had better sing that 
Bong which Meta taught you the last time she was here.” 

They sang very nicely, and in good tune and time, and 
this pleased grandma. The children always expected to 
be asked to sing whenever Mrs. Livingston visited them, 
and tried to do their best as the dear old lady smiled at 
them, and beat the time with her foot. Marjorie thought 
it was all very new and strange, and Joey, standing be- 
side her, opened her mouth and sang away in a very shrill, 
piping voice, nodding her head every minute. 

After the singing, grandma went up and talked for a 
few moments to the teacher, and then, coming back to 
where Marjorie sat at Joey’s desk, she kissed her, and 
said good-by. 

“ I shall be up at the monthly meeting next week,’ 
said she. “ Be a good child, and Regie won’t forget to 
come and see you.” 

The door closed behind Mrs. Livingston and the ma- 
tron, leaving Marjorie feeling forlorn enough. Presently, 
the teacher came down to her side, and questioned her 
about what she had learned, and put her in a reading and 
spelling class with Joey. Then she gave Marjorie a copy- 
book with little up-strokes and down-strokes, very much 
like pot-hooks, and told her to copy two lines and bring 
them to her. But before she finished them the scholars 
had a recess, and Joey banged the lid of her desk with 
great energy, and invited Marjorie to come out for a 
game of tag. 

Marjorie went, a little unwillingly, and was straight- 
way surrounded by a crowd of girls, chiefly larger thaw 
aerself. They began to ply her with questions. 


*0 


MARJ)RIE’S quest 


“ What ’s your name ? ” demanded one. 

“ Marjorie.” 

“ Marjorie what? ” said another. 

“ Just that — Marjorie,” said she, coloring painfully. 

“ Law ! What a funny girl. She hain’t got no othei 
name,” said the first speaker with a rude laugh. “ Didn’t 
you never have any father or mother ? ” 

“You just let her ’lone, Maggie Gorman,” said Joey, 
interposing suddenly. “ Mrs. Livingston said I was to 
take care of her, and t’aint none of your affairs if she ’s 
got one name or two. Let ’s play tag ; who’ll be on my 
side ; hold up your hands, girls.” 

At it they went with great glee, but Marjorie begged so 
hard to be allowed to look on from the door-step that 
Joey left her unmolested. 

“ Don’t you like to play in the snow? ” said a little 
voice at her side, breaking in upon her meditations at last. 
Marjorie looked up, and saw a boy about her own age, 
but with a pale face and thin white hands. Looking at 
him more closely she saw that he was lame. 

“ Why don’t you go snow-balling ? ” said she, answer- 
ing one question with another. 

“ I can’t,” said he simply, glancing at his lame foot. 

“ O, I’m so sorry,” said Marjorie, involuntarily. 

“ ’Cause I’m lame? O, I don’t mind that; everybody ’s 
^ery good to me here. Miss Brooks, I’ll tell you what, 
she ’s awful nice. She gave me oranges when I was sick.” 

“ Wouldn’t you like one now,” said Marjorie, suddenly 
remembering Judge Gray’s gift. “I’ve got a big one 
here ; can’t we come in the house and eat it ? ” 

“ If you’d just as lief go halves,” said the lame boy 
gratefully. “ My name ’s Willy Blanc —what ’s yours ? ’ 

“ Marjorie,” said she, and was relieved to find it 


A NEW HOME. 


71 


seemed to satisfy her new friend entirely. Willy limped 
up to the teacher’s desk and asked for a knife, and Miss 
Hannah gave him one with an injunction not to cut his 
fingers, and then Marjorie and he sat down and ate the 
orange. He talked away very pleasantly to her, and told 
her how long he had been at the asylum, and the names 
of the boys who were good to him, and of the nicest girls. 
Marjorie liked him. 

Recess was not very long, and the orange had just been 
finished when the children came tramping back, rosy and 
laughing after their various games. Pretty soon after 
recess the dinner-bell rang loudly, and they all went into 
the dining-room and took their places at a long table. 
There seemed to be good food and plenty of it, but Mar- 
jorie could not eat. Joey who sat next to her, and 
seemed to have taken her quite under her protection* 
wondered why she did not have more appetite. 

“ I’ll tell you,” said she, nodding her head in her queer 
way which set every curl bobbing up and down ludi- 
crously. “ If you’ve a mind, I’ll ask Bridget for some 
bread and molasses for you, — you’re a new girl, and 
you’ll get it. I like mush best.” 

But Marjorie declined the offer, and went back into 
the school-room with a longing, pining sickness of the 
heart, which (if that lady could have known it) would 
have afforded Mrs. Marston the utmost satisfaction, as it 
supported her theory that “ the child was spoiled by the 
absurd fuss Regie made over her.” 

The afternoon passed very much as the morning had 
f;one in the school-room. Marjorie wrote two more lines 
in her copy-book, and was praised for her painstaking, 
and she also read a little, and received her first lesson in 
trithmetic. Just before tea, as she stood looking out of 


72 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


the school-room window, the tidy servant whom she had 
seen on her arrival came behind her and tapped her 
shoulder. 

44 I say,” said she. 44 There ’s a boy out in the hall by 
the door to see you. Miss Brooks said I could fetch you, 
but you mustn’t be long, for tea ’s ready.” 

Wondering very much who her visitor could be, Mar- 
jorie followed Mary, and there, in the porch twisting his 
cap, and looking very blushing and merry, stood Regie ! 

44 Couldn’t help it, Madge,” said he. 44 It ’s against 
rules to come so soon, but I found some of Betsey’s crullers, 
fresh ones, at granny’s, and I just tore up here to bring 
you some. Miss Brooks said I might — this once ! ” and 
he stuffed a fat paper parcel in her apron, gave her a 
regular bear’s hug, and banged out of the door before 
Marjorie could ask a question, or even say 44 Thank you.” 

She went back to the school-room window with a 
warm, grateful feeling for something more than the crul- 
lers, however. Then she beckoned to J oey, and gave two 
of the cakes to her, and three to Willy Blanc ( 44 one 
more because he ’s lame you know,” she explained to 
Joey) ; and then consulted her new friend as to the best 
place to keep the remainder. 

44 We don’t have any places ’cept our desks,” said Joey ; 
44 but I’ll tell you what — we’ll ask Miss Hannah. P’raps 
she’ll put ’em away till recess to-morrow ; why, Marjorie, 
you’ve only eaten one and a half.” 

44 But I saw Regie,” stammered Marjorie with the 
[shyness she always experienced in telling her thoughts. 
' 4 That was just as good as two crullers, every bit — and 
better ! ” 

44 You are a queer girl,” was Joey’s reply. 44 Come 
we’ll ask Miss Hannah right off ; the bell ’ll ring in about 
one second.” 


A NEW HOME. 


78 


Miss Hannah smiled at Joey’s request, and when Mar- 
jorie plucked up courage enough to ask her teacher to 
take one of the cakes, she broke off a piece, and said it 
was very nice, and asked who made it. Marjorie told 
her, and Miss Hannah said that anything which came 
from Mrs. Livingston’s was sure to be good, and then 
look Marjorie to supper. 

But the sad, lonely feeling which had been charmed 
away by Regie’s little kindness, returned in full force 
when Marjorie went to bed. The dormitories, and their 
many beds, the clatter of voices as the children were 
undressed, all combined to render her homesick. Poor 
Marjorie felt as if she could not say her “ prayer,” and 
she missed Seraphina very much, for she always carried 
her doll to bed as regularly as she went herself. Her bed 
was next to Joey’s, but, unfortunately, Maggie Gorman 
was on the other side, and when she saw tears begin to 
; steal down Marjorie’s face, she called her “ a great baby,” 
and asked in a mocking voice if she wanted Miss Brooks 
to come and “ cuddle her.” Marjorie hadn’t the faintest 
notion what that was, but she turned away and hid her 
face in her pillow, and tried to lie very still while Joey 
defended her and made saucy answers to her assailant. 
The combatants were obliged to retort in whispers, lest 
their teacher should hear them, and after a few spicy 
rounds the two voices sank away in sleepy murmurs, and 
thp girls fell asleep. Not so little Marjorie ; her sobs 
ceased after a time, but she lay there gazing in the dark 
with wide open eyes, thinking sorrowfully. Presently 
she found that by lying very far over on her pillow she 
could catch a glimpse of the sky through the window, 
uear the door. The night was clear and the stars shone 
with the brilliancy which is often seen on a winter’s night, 


74 


MARJORIE'S QUEST. 


and as she looked up, Marjorie thought of Regie’s stories 
about them, and was quieted. 

Miss Brooks, coming in to inspect the dormitory, with 
a candle in her hand, saw the pathetic gray eyes turn 
toward her, and walking softly to the bed noticed the 
tears on their long lashes. 

“What’s the matter?” said she in a kind whisper, 
lucking the quilt a little closer. 

“Nothing, ma’am — only” — a sob treading on the 
last word, “ Seraphina is such a comfort to me, and I’m 
’fraid she’ll be cold down in your drawer.” 

Miss Brooks looked at her for a moment in silence. 
“Well,” said she, “children are just as odd as grown 
folks, for all I see. Some are satisfied if you’ll only give 
’em enough to eat and drink — take care of their bodies ; 
the other sort want dolls — and hearts. Marjorie,” with 
sudden recollection of the grave eyes regarding her curi- 
ously, “ if I send Seraphina up to you and let you have 
her to sleep with you at night, will you promise to bring 
her to me before breakfast every day, and not ask for her 
in the day-time ? If you’ll be a very good girl I will let 
you do so.” 

“ O, ma’am, won’t I ? ” cried Marjorie, sitting up, 
and stretching out both hands in her extreme surprise 
and delight at having her beloved companion restored to 
her. 

Miss Brooks smiled, and raised her finger warningly. 

“ There ! you’ll wake up the children. Good-night,” 
and the kind woman kissed her and walked away. 

In a few minutes Mary brought the doll up-stairs, and 
having whispered all her joy at seeing her, into Sera* 
phina’s patient ears, Marjorie curled down in bed snugly 
and forgot her troubles in dream-land. 


MRS. MARSTON ASSISTS FATE 


75 


CHAPTER VII. 

MRS. MARSTON ASSISTS FATE. 

T HE windows were thrown open in Mrs. Marston s 
elegant little boudoir, and the soft May breeze came 
Btealing in, laden with the breath of flowers and the song 
of birds. Lying back in her easy-chair sat a lady, with 
a fair, faded face, and an expression rather peevish and 
discontented as she talked on in a voice which would 
have been pleasant, but for its fretful tone. She was 
very handsomely dressed ; the folds of her purple silk lay 
in a rich mass on the floor, beautiful bracelets clasped 
her slender wrists, and her hands sparkled with valuable 
rings. 

“ You see it ’s very hard for me, Helen,” said she ; “ Mr. 
Wylder does nothing but find fault with Horace from 
morning until night, though I’m sure the poor boy acts 
no worse than most boys. All boys are cubs,” with a 
touch of irritation, “ and Horace has grown beycnd me, 
long ago.” 

“ Yes ? ” said Mrs. Marston, in a prudently question- 
ing tone, and remembering that during her late visit at 
Mrs. Wylder ’s she had endured martyrdom in various 
forms from the overgrown, spoiled lad of sixteen, who 
twisted his easy-going mother around his finger, and 
obeyed no one. 

“ It was such a dreadful thing that I lost my little 
girl,” resumed Mrs. Wylder. “ She would have been 
about ten years old now, and such a companion for me. 
\ have always wanted a little girl to dress a v d pet, ana 


76 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


Mr. Wylder is forever talking about our poor lost Evelyn. 
I have thought I would adopt a child if I could find one 
without incumbrances. If one sees a really nice, well- 
behaved, pretty little girl, in circumstances where an 
offer of adoption might be accepted, there is always some 
horrid mother or father whose feelings have to be con- 
sidered, — and so on ! I did start some negotiations once 
with a Scotch woman in New York (the child was a dear 
little thing, with lovely gray eyes, — the only color I ad- 
mire at all) ; but the mother wanted to come and see her 
every Saturday night, and, dear me, I could not have 
endured that, you know.” Mrs. Wylder leaned further 
back in her chair, and applied her jeweled vinaigrette 
to her patrician nose. That the Scotch woman in ques- 
tion might have been influenced by love for her child in 
making the demand, never entered Mrs. Wylder’s calcu- 
lations. 

“ How would Mr. Wylder fancy your adopting a 
child? ” asked Mrs. Marston. 

“ Be delighted, my dear. Didn’t I tell you he was 
always sighing and complaining because Horace is a boy ? 
Indeed, Mr. Wylder is always very good to me ; he never 
stints me as to money, and, for a man, I must do him the 
justice to say that he makes great allowance for my weak 
nerves and takes all the burden of housekeeping off my 
shoulders. You look as if you had an idea for me,” 
catching Mrs. Marston’s eye. “ Do you know of any 
child whom you think might suit me ? ” 

“ Yes, I do,” said Mrs. Marston. 

“ Why, Helen ! ” with more animation than she had 
yet displayed, “ you don’t mean it ? Anybody here ? ” 

“ I don’t suppose you remember hearing Lily allude to 
a little girl called Marjorie, who was at Meta Livingston’i 


MRS. MARSTON ASSISTS FATE. 


77 


yesterday afternoon ? She is a child whom my brother, 
Judge Gray, picked up, with his usual benevolence, and I 
believe she has not a tie in the world. Old Mrs. Living- 
ston got admittance at the orphan asylum for her last 
winter, and all the family take the greatest possible in- 
terest in her. It would be a fine thing for the child, 
Louise, to be in your family.” 

“ Thank you,” said Mrs. Wylder, looking pleased. 
“ How old is she ? ” 

“ About nine or ten ; it ’s rather difficult to determine 
her age, for she is remarkably old in some things.” 

“ Just the very age. O, Helen, I must see her. I 
quite love her already,” said Mrs. Wylder, enthusiast- 
ically. “ Do you think Judge Gray would consent if I 
implored him to let me have her ? And dear old Mrs. 
Livingston, — 1 suppose one would have to obtain her 
consent ? ” 

u Her concurrence, certainly,” said Mrs* Marston, se- 
cretly elated to find that her seed had taken root, and 
knowing well that when an idea was firmly fixed in Mrs. 
Wylder’s head it became a whim at very short notice. 
“But perhaps it would be as well for you to say nothing 
of your plan just yet, until you have seen Marjorie, and 
I can speak to my brother. For (it ’s so ridiculous, my 
dear, that I know you will laugh) Reginald is quite be- 
witched with this child, and I am afraid that he would 
strongly oppose her leaving here, even if it was to go tc 
^our delightful home.” 

“ How old is Reginald Gray ? ” asked her friend, with 
a, sly smile, and perceiving, with all her silliness, that 
Mrs. Marston had some ulterior motive. 

“ Only sixteen,” said Mrs. Marston, carelessly. “ Just 
Horace’s age but a very hot-headed, impetuous boy, 


78 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


Ana Jam 33 and liis grandma indulge him in this whim 
and really I do not believe there has been a single Sat- 
urday since Marjorie went to the asylum which she has 
not spent at my brother’s. With you, Louise, a desire 
to adopt a child is quite a different matter, and on many 
accounts, I would advise you to do so, but one cannot 
be too careful with, a boy like Reginald. Fancies are so 
apt to cling to a warm, impassioned nature like his ; and 
although this child is a very nice child — a remarkably 
nice child,” — added she, with a slight qualm of con- 
science as she remembered Marjorie’s behavior to Lily at 
the Christmas tree, “ still, you know, it would be dread- 
ful to have anything follow this childish fondness — you 
understand ? ” 

Mrs. Wylder gave her an odd, upward glance. 

“You are a wise woman, Helen ; I wish I had such 
far-seeing tact. When will it be advisable for me to see 
the little girl? 

“ I think I will consult grandma, first,” said Mrs. Mars- 
ton. “ I can call there to-morrow morning, and I will try 
to see J ames directly afterward. And now, what are you 
going to wear at Mrs. Clay’s dinner to-night ?” 

Dress, and all its appurtenances, was dear to the soul 
f Mrs. Wylder, so she plunged eagerly into the topic, and 
before the day was over had almost forgotten that she 
knew the real reason of Mrs. Marston’s philanthropic de- 
sire to settle Marjorie in a luxurious home. 

Take it altogether, Marjorie was very well contented 
with her home at the asylum. Of course, she missed the 
luxuries of Judge Gray’s home, and oftentimes she pined 
for Regie with strange persistency in so young a child, 
but she saw him frequently, and good Miss Brooks allowed 
aer to go there and spend Saturday afternoons. Tht 


MRS. MARSTON ASSISTS FATE 


79 


brightness of those days lasted Marjorie through the 
whole week, and the things she saw and did ^hile outside 
the asylum walls were a constant fund of enjoyment to 
Joey and Willy Blanc. Indeed, Marjorie had done what 
she could to interest Meta and Regie in her little friends, 
and J oey had been made happy by a new frock, made by 
Meta’s own hands, while many a delicate bit of cake, or 
fruit, found their way into Marjorie’s pocket as a gift for 
Willy, from Regie. 

For more than a week past, Regie, who was usually 
the embodiment of rosy, perfect health, had been feeling 
Btrangely languid and unlike himself. His head troubled 
him a great deal ; sometimes he would have what he 
styled “ a splitting headache,” and again, dizzy turns, 
when the Greek characters in the book before him would 
dance a curious waltz together, and the English words 
bob up and down in a tipsy way which discomfited him 
sadly. Judge Gray was away upon Circuit, and Miss 
Rachel was so unaccustomed to watching the boy that she 
never noticed his paleness, or the deep fines under his 
eyes. Grandma did, however, and said to him uneasily 
one day, — 

“ Regie, you ought to have a spring tonic ; you don’t 
ook like yourself.” 

“ Don’t I, granny ? ” said he, with his old, merry smile. 
“ My head bothers me, that ’s all. We’ve had some 
vlaguy hard Greek lately ; I’ll be all right when vacation 
comes.” 

“ You had better stop and see Dr. Gibbs to-morrow,” 
said grandma, with a troubled face. Regie promised, but 
a game of cricket came up unexpectedly the next day, 
and he was so engrossed with that that he forgot all about 
the doctor. And getting violently heated at cricket, and 


80 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


walking home in his shirtsleeves, did not improve matters, 
as he found to his cost. 

On the Saturday which Mrs. Marston had alluded to. 
Meta had sent for Marjorie to spend the afternoon with 
her, and Regie, being detained with his game of cricket, 
did not arrive at his uncle’s until a much later hour than 
usual. Lily Marston had come in to call during the after- ( 
noon, and Meta had invited her to remain to tea. Lily, j 
rather to Meta’s surprise, had accepted the invitation, j 
and Regie was not overpleased when he came in and 
found her perched up on the window-seat, arrayed in a 
sweeping silk dress belonging to Meta’s mamma, and in 
which she had been playing at charades with the others, j 

“ What upon earth did you ask her for, Meta ? ” de* 
manded he, in an irritated tone that was very unusual 
with him. “ A regular old spoil-sport, beside, she always J 
tries to snub Marjorie.” 

“ I couldn’t help it, Regie ; mamma told me to. She ’s 
been very pleasant this afternoon, and I let her have all 
the fine lady parts in our charade.” Regie laughed. 

“That’s just like you — always smoothing people 
down. I’m afraid I was rude just now, Meta, but Lily 
and I don’t ‘ gee,’ somehow. Well, I’ll carry Madge off 
'or the story I promised her after tea. 

Regie kept his word, but when he brought Marjorie’s 
chair out on the balcony, and a low stool for himself, his 
head ached so intolerably that he leaned forward against 
(■he railing, and let Marjorie chatter on about the events of 
.he past week at the asylum without saying more than a 
word or two himself. 

“Why, Regie, is anything the matter?” asked Mar 
orie, at last, noticing his unwonted silence. 

“ My head aches confoundedly,” said he, raising it 


MRS. MARSTON ASSISTS FATE. 


81 


From liis folded arms. “ And all sorts of queer black 
things dance up and down before my eyes. I guess I 
have to take a dose of aunt Rachel’s physic, — ugh ! 
Thank goodness papa will be home to-night.” 

“ O, dear ! You don’t believe you’re going to be 
. Bick ? ” asked Marjorie with a frightened face. 

“ Nonsense, Madge. I never was sick in my life. 
That feels good,” as she climbed up on his lap and put her 
cool little hand on his forehead. u How hot my head is ! 
But I don’t feel very warm anywhere else,” as a shiver 
shook him from head to foot. 

“You’d better come right into the house, and leave 
the story till next Saturday,” said Marjorie, decidedly, 
and wondering what ailed him. 

“ I don’t know but you’re right,” said he, rising unwill- 
ingly. “ Don’t say a word to aunty or Meta. I’ll go 
and play.” 

Marjorie sat by him listening and applauding as usual, 
but he only played a short time, ending with her favor- 
| ite, the “ Prayer.” 

“ I’m going to take Marjorie back to the asylum, Aunt 
Mary,” said he, leaving the piano rather abruptly. “ And 
you must excuse me from coming back to finish the even- 
ing. Papa is coming home and I know he will want me.” 

So Marjorie was kissed good-night, and had her pocket 
filled with the usual dainties for Willy, Joey, and herself, 
$nd then she trotted off, her hand in Regie’s. It was 
one of their favorite, moonlight nights, and they went 
i slowly ; Regie’s head seemed better for a little while. 

But when they said good-night in the porch, after Regie 
j had rung the bell, some impulse, for which he could never 
; afterwards account, made him lift the slender figure in 
nis arms and say, with a loving kiss and unusual earnest- 


82 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 




ness, “ Good-niglit, Madge, darling. As papa says, 4 Don’t 
remember to forget ’ your old Rex.” 

Mary opened the door before the confused child could 
answer, and drawing his cap over his eyes, Regie dashed 
off down the moonlit hill. 

When he reached his home he found that his father had 
telegraphed that he would not return until the last train, | 
and Miss Rachel had gone to her room with a nervous 
attack, so Regie stationed himself in the library, and tried ] 
to amuse himself with a story in one of the magazines. 1 
But it only made him more and more giddy, and he 
finally threw himself down on the sofa and slept a light, I 
fitful slumber, until his father’s latch-key sounded in the j 
door. 

“ Is that you, papa ? ” cried he, springing up suddenly, I 
and as Judge Gray entered, he gave a staggering step 
toward him, felt a curious sensation as if something 1 
snapped in his head, and lost all consciousness as his 
father’s arm caught him. 

When he came to himself he was lying on his own 
bed, and his father was bathing his forehead. 

“ What ’s the matter with me ? ” said he, faintly. 1 
u Am I going to be ill ? Don’t you let them cut off all 
my hair, papa. If you do it will never curl again, like j 
yours ; that ’s what the man in the moon told Marjorie 
*nd me when we went to call on him last night.” And 
ae slipped off into another fainting fit. 

When morning came, it found Regie in a burning 
fever. The doctor looked very grave as he questioned 
Miss Rachel, and shook his gray head when he heard 
of the cricket match the day before. 

“ It may be a case of brain fever,” said he, in an* 
swot to Judge Gray’s question. “ But I am inclined 


MRS. MARSTON ASSISTS FATE. 


83 


to tliink it typhoid. We can tell in twenty- four hours. 
There are a good many cases of it about this spring.” 
He did not add (although he thought it) that the pre- 
vailing type was a dangerous one, but gave his prescrip- 
tions for the morning and went away, promising to look 
| in at night again. 

That same day, Mrs. Marston drove down to see grand- 
j ma, to lay before her the proposed adoption of Marjorie 
by Mrs. Wylder. Grandma listened to the plan, and it 
struck her very favorably. 

“ It will be an excellent opportunity for the child,” said 
she, “ provided your friend does not grow weary of her 
new idea. I should not like to have Marjorie returned to 
us after a few months ; it would be so bad for the little 
thing to be hawked about in that way.” 

“ I think that Louise, though rather silly, is a very 
’ kind-hearted woman,” said Mrs. Marston, with candor. 
“And there is one thing quite certain : if Marjorie pleases 
Mr. Wylder she will remain with them all her life. 
He is 4 the power behind the throne,’ and I know he has 
never ceased to lament the loss of their little girl, the 
only one they ever had. Louise will make a great pet 
of her” — she paused, afraid lest the idea of spoiling by 
j over-indulgence might prove a point against her. 

“ Well,” said grandma, “ you had better take Mrs. 
Wylder up to the asylum and let her see Marjorie. I 
rill talk to your brother about it, but now that Regie is 
ill I am afraid he will not have much time to attend to 
j the matter.” 

“ Regie ill ? ” echoed Mrs. Marston. “ Of what, pray ? 

; I thought the boy never was sick.” 

“I am going over by and by,” said grandma, very 
‘uneasily. “ I had a note from Rachel this morning, J 


B4 


Marjorie’s quest. 


have been worried about that boy for two weeks ; he 
hasn’t looked well, and I begged him to go to the doc- 
tor’s.” 

Don’t worry about him,” said Mrs. Marston, kindly. 
“ I will stop there myself on the way home.” 

She did so, and found her brother looking somewhat 
grave and preoccupied. Mrs. Marston talked encourag- 
ingly of Regie’s fine health and constitution, and then in- 
troduced her plan for Marjorie very adroitly, apropos to 
Regie’s fondness for his protegd. Judge Gray looked a 
little doubtful ; he had known Mrs. Wylder when she 
was Louise Catlin, and he was a little skeptical about 
the wisdom of intrusting a child to her to be reared. On 
the other hand, he knew her to be an amiably disposed 
woman, and he did not doubt that Marjorie would enjoy 
a luxurious home ; — but was luxury always the best 
atmosphere for a little innocent soul ? Mrs. Marston, with 
her usual penetration, read a good deal of this in his 
speaking face. 

“ I think it is quite a lucky opening,” said she. “ To 
be sure Louise is not overburdened with brains, but Mr. 
Wylder represents the common-sense of that family.” 

“ Very true, Helen. Yes, I think you may be right. 
Wylder is a man in whose firmness and integrity I have 
great confidence. I’ll think about it. I wonder what 
Rex would say? ” and a shade came over the father’s 
face as he thought of his boy lying ill in the room above. 

“We could all see her pretty often,” Mrs. Marston 
hastened to say, declining to discuss Regie’s opinion of her 
plan. “You run down to New York so frequently, and 
Regie often accompanies you. I’ll not detain you now, 
James,” for the Judge made a motion to rise as he heard 
'outsteps overhead ; “let me know to-morrow how Regia 


MRS. MARSTON ASSISTS FATE. 


85 


Mrs. Marston went home in high ‘spirits. She bad 
been more successful than she had dared to hope, and 
felt pretty certain that her point was gained. But it 
would certainly he wise to hasten the affair as much as 
possible, as there was no telling what adverse influence 
Regie might exert when he recovered. Mrs. Wylder had 
received a letter from her husband containing cards for 
two large parties in New York the following week, and 
she immediately announced that she must return for 
them. 

“ How long do you think it would take that child to 
get ready to go with me ? ” asked she that evening while 
discussing her departure. 

“Not more than twenty-four hours,” said Mrs. Mars- 
ton. “ I was very successful to-day, Louise. Mrs. Liv- 
ingston was delighted, and James thought it an excellent 
opportunity.” 

“ I am enchanted ! ” cried Mrs. Wylder. “ Then you 
will take me to see the dear little girl to-morrow ! I long 
for her — ah ! if by any chance she should have gray 
eyes.” 

Marjorie was busy with her copy-book the next day, 
not dreaming of the turn that Fortune’s wheel was taking 
for her, when Mary made her appearance in the school- 
room, and after a moment’s whispering to Miss Hannah, 
Bhe came over to Marjorie’s desk, — 

“ Miss Brooks wants ye,” said she. “ And, av ye 
plase, I’m to take ye up -stairs an’ wash ye, and put on a 
clane apron.” 

“ I’m not dirty,” said Marjorie, rather bewildered at 
this message. 

“ It’s to see somebody,” wnispered Joey, nodding her 
lead and looking wise. “ Perhaps it ’s Miss Meta.” 


86 


marjorie’s quest. 


Tliin ye are out there,” said Mary, nodding back at 
her, as she walked Marjorie off. “ It ’s a strange lady, 
the loike of which I niver saw, wid silks and velvets and 
jewelry.” 

Mary was in such haste that she scrubbed Marjorie’s 
face with very unnecessary vigor, and twitched her haic 
up and her chin down when she tied on the clean apron, 
but, notwithstanding, it was a very sweet, lovely looking 
child who entered Miss Brooks’s room a few minutes later. 

“ Marjorie,” said the matron, kindly, “ this is a lady 
from New York whom Mrs. Livingston wanted you to 
Bee. Go and shake hands with her, my dear.” 

Thus admonished, Marjorie advanced, with crimsoning 
cheeks, and ventured to put the tips of her fingers in the 
pearl-colored kid extended to her. 

“ The dear little unsophisticated soul ! ” cried Mrs. 
Wylder. “ Marjorie, you have just the same colored 
hair that my little girl had.” 

“ Yes, ma’am,” said Marjorie. 

“ How do you like me ? Just look at me, dear ; raise 
your timid little eyes, love, and see if I don’t look as if I 
could be a mother to you.” 

Marjorie gave her a startled glance. “ My mother is 
dead,” she said, slowly raising her beautiful eyes to the 
lady’s face. 

“ I know that. How would you like to come to New 
York with me? I live in a large house, and you shall 
have plenty of dolls and playthings, and go riding with 
me in my carriage every day.” 

Marjorie’s eyes turned toward Miss Brooks for ex 
planation. 

“Mrs. Wylder means that she wants to adopt you,’ 
said the matron, bluntly. “ That is, to bring you up as 
her little girl, in the place of one she lost.” 


MRS. MARSTON ASSISTS FATE. 87 

“ Go away from here ? Is it a nice place ? ” asked 
Marjorie, looking less timidly at her new patroness. 

“ Yes,” said Miss Brooks. Evidently, the plain-spoken 
matron did not admire the gushing manner of her visitor. 

u Just as nice a place as you can think of,” pursued 
Mrs. Wylder, kissing Marjorie’s cheek. “ It ’s a very 
much larger city than this. My house is like — well ! 
something like Judge Gray’s.” She did not like to add 
that it was, in her estimation, much finer. 

“ Judge Gray’s,” said Marjorie, her face growing sober 
again. “ O, I can’t go away unless he says so. I be- 
long to him ; he found me.” 

“ Well, Judge Gray thinks my house would be the 
very place for you,” said Mrs. Wylder, eagerly. Having 
set her heart upon carrying Marjorie home with her as a 
pleasant surprise for her husband, she did not mean to be 
balked in her plan. “You see, I shall love you and pet 
you as if you were my own ; do you not understand ? ” 

But Marjorie’s face fell. “ And Meta, O — and 
Regie,” — a sob choked her voice. “Ma’am, I don’t 
think I can go.” 

“ You shall have Meta (isn’t that Mrs. Livingston’s 
little granddaughter ?) to visit you, and Regie too. And 
Judge Gray often holds court in New York, and he will 
bring his son with him. Won’t you come, Marjorie?” 
growing plaintive ; “ I am very lonesome, and I haven’t 
any little girl, you know.” 

This appeal did more for her cause than any of her 
coaxing had done. It went straight to Marjorie’s warm, 
loving heart, and, of her own free will, she raised her 
face to the fair, flushed one beside her and kissed Mrs. 
W ylder. 

44 I’ve been lonesome, too,” said she. “ But I have 


88 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


Seraphina to comfort me. I s’pose you want me just the* 
Bame as I want her ? ” 

“You generally do hit the nail square on the head, 
Marjorie,” said Miss Brooks, laughing. u Seraphina is 
her doll, Mrs. Wylder. I hope you’ll make something 
better than a doll out of this specimen. She isn’t cut 
after the same pattern as most of ’em, I can tell you. I 
knew I shouldn’t have her long.” 

Mrs. Wylder did not know what to make of Miss 
Brooks. Her terse sentences, the odd glimmer of her 
eye, and the keen glances she gave her, savored some- 
what of disrespect, she thought, so she clasped Marjorie 
in her arms and demanded, — 

“ It ’s all settled then ? You will come, my darling ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Marjorie, with a curious sigh. “ That is, 
if Judge Gray says so — and Regie.” 

Mrs. Wylder covered her face with kisses, called her 
“ a dear little angel,” and brought out a large paper of 
bonbons from her pocket, and finally slipped a very pretty 
ring with a little sparkling ruby in it off her little finger 
and tried it on Marjorie’s hand. The child colored with 
delight. 

“ Is it for me ? ” 

“ Yes, love ; it fits nicely. I am so glad you have nice 
slender hands ; quite like my own. And your feet,” in- 
sisting upon looking at them; “when you have a nice, 
jaunty kid boot, they will look very well. Remember me 
when you look at the ring, dear ; one kiss more — adieu ! 
Miss Brooks, I am so obliged, so indebted, — please have 
her ready at the time I mentioned. Good-morning,” and 
off floated the lady in a state of beaming satisfaction with 
everybody. Marjorie watched her as she tripped down 
the steps where a carriage stood, and a strange feeling of 


MRS. MARSTON ASSISTS FATE. 


89 


misgiving filled her heart as she recognized tht equipage 
co be Mrs. Marston’s. She always had felt, instinctively, 
that that lady did not like her, and she turned around to 
Miss Brooks with a sudden question. 

“ O, do you believe she’ll be good to me ? ” asked she, 
trying hard not to cry. 

“ Good ? yes,” said Miss Brooks, who, although she 
had her own private opinion of Mrs. Wylder’s silliness, 
did not doubt that any one accredited by Mrs. Livingston 
would be a proper person to take Marjorie. “ You know 
what this asylum is for, Marjorie? We keep the girls, 
teach them how to work, sew, read, and write, and then 
we get situations for them — sometimes in one way, 
sometimes in another. It ’s very seldom that any lady 
like Mrs. Wylder cares to adopt a child ; they oftener 
take them to bring up as a maid, or a servant of some 
kind. And Mrs. Wylder means to be very liberal to 
you.” But Marjorie shook her head. 

“ Somehow it seems wrong here,” said she, laying her 
hand on her breast. “ When will she come for me ? ” 

“ Next Saturday.” Miss Brooks understood the char- 
acter of the child before her ; it was far better to tell her 
the whole ; she would become reconciled to it sooner. 

“ Sha’n’t I see Meta, nor Judge Gray, nor Regie ? ” 
cried she, clasping her hands convulsively. 

“ Nonsense, my dear. I’m not a heathen, nor they 
either. Of course you’ll see them ; you don’t think Judge 
Gray will let you go away without it ? ” 

Actually, Miss Brooks did not dare to add the news of 
Regie's illness, which Mrs. Wylder had communicated to 
her. And she felt so sorry for the child, and the anxiety 
she would be sure to suffer on Regie’s account, that she 
.sept her in her room until tea-time, and gave her Sera- 
phima and a Chinese puzzle to play with. 


90 


marjorie’s quest. 


The next day brought Meta to tl t asylum. She told 
Miss Brooks that Regie was very ill ; the doctor said the 
fever was of the typhoid form, and Judge Gray haidly 
left his son day or night. But, laden as he was with this 
weary load of anxiety, he had taken the pains to send a 
note to Meta’s mamma, asking her to receive Marjorie in 
her house for the few remaining days before her depart- 
ure for New York. So Meta had come for Marjorie, and 
the sober little face brightened wonderfully when the 
child heard the plan. But when Meta, very cautiously 
and gradually, told her of Regie’s illness, all her amazing 
self-control gave way, and her little frame shook with 
such sobs of grief that Meta was frightened. Miss Brooks 
took Marjorie on her knee, and tried to comfort her. 

“ There, dear,” said the good matron, feelingly ; “ he ’a 
very sick, but he ’s in the hands of a good God. Many 
people who have this fever get well ; don’t you think 
Regie would be sorry to see you cry so ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Marjorie, and she sat up, obediently, and 
tried to stop the fast flowing tears. 

“ And here is Meta, and you are to go and stay with 
her until you go to New York. I can send, your bundle ; 
I suppose you had better put on the white dress that Miss 
Gray sent you.” 

Meta said, “ Yes,” and went away with Marjorie to 
change her dress, and comfort her. Miss Brooks met 
them in the hall as they came down. 

“ Here ’s Joey and Willy to bid you good-by,” said she. 
“ I shall always be glad to see you, my child. You have 
been good and obedient ever since you came here. God 
bless you ! ” and she kissed Marjorie with hearty feeling 
Joey cried, and Willy rubbed his eyes and nose quite 
red in his efforts tc keep from the contagion of her ex 


MRS. MARSTON ASSISTS FATE. 


91 


wnple, while Marjorie promised never to forget them, 
never, but to come back and see them just as soon as ever 
Bhe could. And then she went down the steps with 
Meta, and looked back to see Miss Brooks, Joey, and 
Willy standing in the door, waving their handkerchiefs 
to her with all their might. 

Mrs. Edmund Livingston did all in her power to give 
Marjorie pleasure during her short stay with Meta. But 
the child’s smiles were rare ; she fretted night and day 
about Regie. It was quite useless to try to keep the daily 
bulletins about him from her. She watched the door, 
Bhe waylaid the servants, and she drooped, poor child ! as 
if touched by the shadow of a great sorrow. But the 
night before she was to start for New York, she was sit- 
ting, as usual, in the parlor window which overlooked the 
front door, when she saw J udge Gray’s well-known figure 
coming up the steps. 

“It ’s your uncle ! ” cried she to Meta, with a scream 
of joy. “ O, I know Regie must be better.” And she 
flew into the hall, and had her arms about the Judge’s 
neck before Meta herself. 

“ Why, Marjorie ! ” The round, clear voice was full 
of tenderness. “ And my little Meta, too ! Did you 
think that you were going off with Mrs. Wylder without 
my seeing you, Margie ? ” 

“ No, indeed,” said Marjorie, keeping tight hold of his 
hand as they walked into the parlor “ How is Regie ? ” 

A shadow passed over his handsome face. “We hope 
n trifle better. The fever has not yet come to its crisis.” 

Marjorie startled them all. She put her hands over 
her face, and gave a moan as if her heart was breaking. 

“ I can’t go — I ska’n’t go * ” she cried, with wild, sud- 
Jen passion ; “ O, don’t make me, sir. Indeed, I shaL 
lie if I don’t hear about him, regular.” 


92 


marjorie’s quest. 


The soft hazel eyes regarding her filled with tears. 
Judge Gray’s lips trembled so much that, for a moment, 
he could not speak. Then he lifted her upon his knee. 

“ My dear little girl, you shall hear, I promise you.’ 
A sharp pang wrung the father’s heart as he thought 
what that news might be. “ I know how Regie loves 
you ; I promise you I will send a telegram to Mr. Wylder 
for you every night.” 

It was very fortunate that Mrs. Marston was not pres- 
ent to hear this new proof of her brother’s affection for 
his little proteg6. She would have congratulated herself 
still more upon her foresight in disposing of Marjorie. 

“ Well,” said Judge Gray, in a lighter tone, “did Miss 
Brooks break her heart when you left ? Don’t you 
think she should have a bigger heart than the rest of us, 
she ’s such a very big woman ? Have the tears all gone ? 
Here ’s a book I have brought you, Marjorie. It ’s a story 
that Regie is extremely fond of, — 4 Robinson Crusoe.’ 
You must learn to read soon, and to write. I think I 
will send you a little letter, sometime, and I know that 
Meta and Regie will, often.” 

Marjorie hugged him in speechless gratitude, and then 
hugged her pretty red book also ; and as Mrs. Livingston 
came in, accompanied by grandma, the conversation be- 
came general, and she slipped off Judge Gray’s knee to 
show Meta her new treasure. He did not stay very long, 
for he felt uneasy every moment that he was absent from 
Regie’s side ; but he kissed Marjorie good-by with warm, 
ratherly tenderness that sank deep into the child’s heart, 
ana, after he had left them, and the ladies went back 
into the parlor, Marjorie stole away into a dark corner of 
Meta’s room, and there, with her cheek pressed again si 
Seraphina’s, cried until she could cry no more. 


HORACE. 


93 


CHAPTER YIII. 

HORACE. 

“ T OHN,” said Mrs. Wylder, in an impatient voice, “ I 
^ wish the cook would learn to serve my toast hot. 
Take this down and order more, immediately.” 

Mr. Wylder looked up from the columns of the 44 Even- 
ing Post.” 44 Don’t give Marjorie tea to-night, my dear,” 
Baid he. 44 It always affects a child’s nerves, and Horace 
got it quite too early in life.” 

Horace made an ugly grimace at Marjorie, as she turned 
her eyes toward him, and muttered something under his 
breath about 44 not being a molly-coddle.” 

The bell rang suddenly and violently, causing Mrs. 
Wylder to sink back among her cushions with a faint 
groan, and presently John walked solemnly back and 
handed his master a yellow envelope upon his silver 
salver, saying respectfully, — 

44 Fifteen cents to collect, sir.” 

A little hand stole into Mr. Wylder ’s as he took up 
the envelope, and Marjorie’s excited voice said, — 

“ My telegram ! O, what ? ” 

It spoke well for Marjorie’s future that her new pro- 
tector did not wait to pay the messenger before reading 
the dispatch. He tore it open, then turned to her, smil- 

“ I wish you joy, my dear. Judge Gray says, 4 Regie 
s pronounced out of danger. Very feeble, but will re- 
cover. Love to Marjorie.’ ” 

44 1 am so thankful ! ” ejaculated Mrs. Wylder. 44 Dear 


94 


marjorie’s quest. 


est Marjorie has cried every day, I do believe, about that 
boy, and her eyes will show it for weeks, I fear.” 

The objectionable tears were running fast down Mar- 
jorie’s cheeks as Mr. Wylder picked her up on his knee. 

“ My dear, don’t,” said he, in a rather awkward voice 

With her usual sensitiveness for others, Marjorie felt 
that, in some mysterious way, he was pained by her cry- 
ing, so she wiped her face quietly, and said, — 

“ I couldn’t help it, please, sir. Regie is such a splen- 
did fellow, — and it was hard to come to New York and 
not see him before I left.” 

“ Marjorie, love,” said Mrs. Wylder, “ do, pray, re- 
member not to say ‘ Please, sir.’ It sounds so dreadfully 
like a street beggar ; I’ve spoken to you of it before.” 

“ Yes, ma’am,” said Marjorie, the swift blood flying 
into her face. 

“Yes, mamma” corrected Mrs. Wylder. 

“ I’ll try to remember, mamma,” said Marjorie, sub- 
missively. Mr. Wylder pressed her a little closer in his 
arms. It was a very fair face that lay back against his 
shoulder. Mrs. Wylder, true to her promise, had been 
very busy for the past week, since their return, purchas- 
ing Marjorie’s wardrobe. Her French maid’s active 
fingers had been called into service, and the beautifully 
fine muslin and embroidery, the blue ribbons for her hair 
and waist, the tiny string of gold beads at the throat, 
were all graceful on Marjorie. And it was curious to see 
how little the child seemed to pride herself upon her fine 
clolhes. She was so absorbed in her anxiety about Regie 
that everything else was secondary, and she submitted to 
de pulled about and fitted, and dressed by Fanchon with 
the same weary, listless air ; but she possessed the innate 
•efinement of soul and person which had always been hei 


HORACE. 


96 


special characteristic, and which stampec her unmistak- 
ably, without the aid of dress. It was too subtle for Mrs. 
Wylder to detect, however, but her husband, with all his 
plain, worldly wisdom, was a keen observer, and the very 
evening of Marjorie’s arrival he uttered a mental thanks- 
giving that his wife’s fickle choice had fallen upon a child 
who possessed something beside mere prettiness of face 
and form. As Mrs. Wylder had foreseen, her husband 
was not at all displeased with the introduction of a little 
girl into their home. Marjorie liked Mr. Wylder. He 
was a plain, quiet looking man, very different from his 
gay, frivolous wife ; a man who said very little, but who 
was well known among his acquaintances as extremely 
liberal and kindly hearted. The child felt that his near- 
sighted, pale blue eyes had a look of sincerity and truth- 
fulness, which she did not find in the face of either Mrs. 
Wylder or Horace. 

Horace was a new revelation to Marjorie. Coming, as 
Bhe did, fresh from her association with Regie, she was 
inclined to look with deep admiration upon any boy 
of the same age as her idol, and his mother’s glowing 
iescription of Horace’s beauty had raised her expecta- 
tions to the highest pitch. As far as regular features, 
clear, bright complexion, and a tall figure could make 
beauty, Horace certainly did not fall short of his mother’s 
praises, but the expression of the bold, handsome face was 
one that Marjorie shrank from. Regie’s frank blue eyes, 
pen as the day in their honest clearness, were widely 
dissimilar from the flashing scornful black ones that 
watched every movement of poor Marjorie’s, until the 
child would become so painfully emoarrassed that tears 
would rush into her eyes under the unkind scrutiny. 
Horace Wylder was a boy who had been ruined by his 


96 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


weak mother’s indulgence. He was selfish in the extreme* 
bully ing and cruel to boys younger than himself, and 
cringing to those whose position he considered superior to 
his own. If he had not been a very clever, quick-witted 
boy, his unpopularity would have cost him his place in 
Mr. Miller’s select school ; but his scholarship stand was 
a high one, and the principal liked to display his brilliant 
pupil upon all public occasions ; so Horace kept his stand, 
and, at the examinations, carried off everything with fly- 
ing colors, and plenty of bombast. The only thing that 
could make the boy quail was the stern glance of his 
father’s eye, when he was trying to carry out some piece 
of deceit. Mr. Wylder had an uneasy feeling, often 
recurring to his mind, that his son was not a perfectly 
truthful boy, but as yet he had never been able to detect 
him in any very flagrant breach of truth, and he was 
sometimes afraid that, in his suspicion, he did Horace 
injustice. 

Marjorie’s arrival was not received with cordiality by 
Horace. Mrs. Wylder knew by the sullen eyes and 
lowering brow of her idol, that this new claimant for 
favor was not an agreeable surprise to him. She had not 
written to her husband of the plan to adopt Marjorie 
chiefly because she knew there would be a scene with 
Horace, and (with her usual habit of evading disagree- 
ables) she purposed to have it over in the form of a sur- 
prise. Marjorie, when Horace met them at the station 
with the carriage, offered her little hand to him, and 
put up her face to be kissed ; but Horace glared at hei 
savagely, and drew back with an exclamation, — 

“ I knew you’d be up to some dodge or other, mother 
What do you want of a girl, bothering round ? ” 

Marjorie, curled up in a corner of the carriage trem 


HORACE. 97 

bling at the rebuff, drew back, and never offered to kiss 
him again. 

Judge Gray had kept his promise. Every evening, 
Mr. Wylder received a dispatch, containing but a word 
or two; still, on those words Marjorie’s anxious heart fed 
for a week. No one knew how the child suffered during 
that time ; the quaint, heart- wrung prayers that she 
uttered day and night for her 44 dear, beautiful Regie.” 
God knew ; and who can say that those innocent appeals 
were in vain, for was she not one of those little ones of 
whom the Master said that 44 in heaven their angels do 
always behold the face of my Father.” 

So it was a very happy little girl who sat on Mr. 
Wylder ’s knee while he finished reading his evening 
paper, and when he laid it down on the table, Marjorie 
ventured to say, in answer to a kind look from him, — 

44 How long will it take Regie to get well and strong ? 
Do you believe I could have a letter from him in two 
weeks ? ” 

44 It will be more like two months, my dear,” said Mr. 
Wylder. 

Seeing Marjorie’s look of disappointment, he added, 
“ I should think your other little friend there — Mr. 
Livingston’s daughter — would let you know about him.” 

44 Meta? Yes, I am sure she will,” said Marjorie 
brightly. 

“How is Seraphina to-night?” asked Mr. Wylder, 
with a smile. Marjorie’s affection for her doll had 
amused him very much. 

“Just as well as can be. Fanchon made her a new 
dress to-day; wasn’t Mrs. Wylder — I mean, wasn’t 
namma — good to let her ? ” 

144 What sensibility . ” sighed that lady from her arm- 

7 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


chair. “ She can make yon another to-morrow, my dar- 
ling. And that reminds me, Mr. Wylder, have you 
attended to that advertisement about a daily governess 
for Marjorie ? ” 

“ I called, as you directed, and found a very nice, lady- 
like person, who gave me the very best references, so I 
desired her to come here to-morrow and make the final 
arrangements as to hours, with you. I settled about the 
salary.” 

“ I don’t doubt the person imposed on you,” cried Mrs. 
Wylder. “ You should have let me make terms with 
her.” 

44 I thought it best to do that myself,” said Mr. Wyl 
der, quietly. He did not think it necessary to add that 
he had been too much struck with the young governess’s 
hacking cough not to give her fully the amount she 
modestly asked: how angry Mrs. Wilder would have 
been had she known that he voluntarily added five dollars 
a quarter to the sum named, under the kindly pretext 
that Marjorie had so much to learn ! 

“ Is my governess nice ? ” asked Marjorie. 

u I think so ; she will be kind, at all events. And, by 
the way, Marjorie, how would Seraphina like it if I gave 
her a rival in your affections ? ” 

“I don’t know, sir,” said Marjorie, opening her eyes, 
and not quite certain what a rival could be. 

“ As I was walking down town to-day I met a boy 
who has been at my office several times with a black and 
tan terrier for sale, and,” smiling, as Marjorie’s speaking 
eyes caught the infection of pleasure from his, — “ and J 
hought I knew a little girl who told me she liked dogs.'' 

44 0< did you get him ? ” cried she. 

“If you will jump down off my knee and ring the 



“‘COME HERE, DOGGIE.’” 




HORACE. 


99 


fcell for Jolin, perhaps you’ll find out vhat came in the 
basket I brought home to-night.” 

Off flew Marjorie. John appeared, and in his arms 
sat a funny little dog, with very bright black eyes, the 
smoothest of hair, and sharp, pointed ears which gave 
him a most knowing expression. 

“ Come here, doggie, doggie,” said Marjorie, as John 
set him down on the carpet. Horace gave a shrill whis- 
tle, but although the dog heard it, and wagged his tail, 
he obeyed Marjorie’s gentle call, to her great delight. 

“ I declare, papa,” said Horace, sullenly, “ you’re really 
too bad. Here I’ve been teasing for a splendid blood- 
hound pup this ever so long, and you go and bring home 
that rat for Marjorie.” 

“ There is some difference between this rat, as you call 
him, who is a house-dog, and will not annoy your mother, 
and a hound of the sort you are anxious to have,” said 
his father. “ We have no place except the stable to keep 
a large dog, and moreover, I know that if I did allow you 
to bring one here he would be in the house half the time. 
I have told you, Horace, that I do not consider dogs of 
that sort safe companions ; they are very fierce, and I 
will not have Marjorie frightened.” 

Horace’s face turned pale, and he cast a glance of vin- 
dictive spite upon Marjorie and the dog. Fortunately 
for him, his father did not see it, and Mrs. Wy lder was 
too much occupied in praising the little dog’s beauty to 
notice the cloud that settled down upon her son’s face. 

Why, he ’s got a collar ! ” cried Marjorie. “ What 
x pretty red one. And nere ’s a — I don’t know what 
Ihis is,” touching the silver plate on it. 

“ That ’s the place to have his name and residence 
wigraved,” said Mrs. W ylder. “ What shall we call 


UiT©, 


100 


Marjorie’s quest. 


him, darling? Spy, Flirt, Rover, — no, none of those suit 
him. Do you think of any name for him, Marjorie?” 

“Why, I don’t know,” said Marjorie, surveying her 
new playmate delightedly. “ He ’s something like Meta f a 
dog, Whiskey. But I don’t think Whiskey is a very 
pretty name, do you? How he holds his head up, just 
as if he was proud of his new collar, something like Tom 
Gray when he wore his red neck-tie that Regie made 
such fun of. O, I know — I’ll call him what Regie 
said Tom was, — ‘ Dandy.’ ” 

“ That ’s a very good name,” said Mr. Wylder, heart- 
ily. “ Ask mamma if you can go with Fanchon to- 
morrow to some jeweler’s and have the name put on the 
collar.” 

“I’ll take you in the carriage,” said Mrs. Wylder. 
“ There comes Fanchon for you, my love. Do you wish 
to have Dandy in your room, or Seraphina? I don’t 
wish you to have both, for you won’t go to sleep to-night.” 

Marjorie hesitated. Dandy frisked, and gave her fin- 
gers a gentle lick with his tongue. She caught Mr. Wyl- 
der’s eye, and blushed deeply. 

“ I can’t give up my dear Seraphina,” said she. “ Do 
you think Dandy’s feelings would be hurt ? Seraphina is 
the oldest friend ; I guess I’ll take more comfort with her.’ 

“You don’t forget the old friends; right, my little 
girl,” said Mr. Wylder, as she threw her arms around 
his neck. 

“ I didn’t thank you,” whispered she, hiding her face 
n his shoulder, “ but I do love you for bringing me such 
a dear, cunning, little dog. May Fanchon keep him for 
me?” 

“ I have given John a basket for him to sleep in : it 
will stand in the upper hall, and when you open youi 


HORACE. 1 01 

door in the morning I expect you will see him wailing for 
you to go down to breakfast. Good-night, my dear.” 

Horace sat glowering over his book for some time after 
Marjorie had gone, and his mother, seeing his displeasure, 
strove to divert him by introducing topics which she 
thought would please him. Mr. Wylder went on reading 
his paper, taking no notice of the boy’s sullen looks, un- 
til Horace put up his book and addressed him. 

44 Papa,” said he, “ I wish you’d give me fifty dollars.” 

Mr. Wylder raised his head. 

44 Fifty dollars, Horace ? You use money pretty fast, 
it seems to me, for I gave you twenty-five over your al- 
lowance last week, and your quarter is not ha If over yet.” 

44 I had to subscribe for a present to Mr. Smith, the 
English teacher, when he went away,” said Horace, with 
an impressive side-glance at his mother, a warning to her 
not to betray that she had given him ten dollars for that 
purpose. 44 And there was a supper that our fellows gave 
last week, and the poor fellows couldn’t come up to the 
mark, so we rich ones had to make it up to Delmonico, 
and ” — 

44 Delmonico ! ” said his father. 44 1 declare, Horace, you. 
are going a little too fast. Have I not forbidden you to 
get up expensive suppers ? Among school-boys it is a 
most pernicious habit, and will only prepare the way for 
all sorts of excesses by and by. W ell, you have accounted 
for part of your money, pray what do you need fifty dol- 
lars for ? ” 

44 Base- ball — and things,” said Horace, boldly, meet- 
ing his father’s eye for half a second, and then looking 
away. 

44 1 dislike to refuse you,” said Mr. Wylder, more kindly, 
as he saw his wife’s beseeching gesture, 44 but I will not 


102 


MARJORIE* S QUEST. 


allow you to run into extravagant habits if I can help it. 
I think five dollars for the base-ball, and five for the 
4 things,’ must satisfy you this time ; there is ten dollars. 
Do not ask me for more until your allowance is due. 
Louise,” speaking with the decision which Mrs. Wylder 
knew she must obey on the rare occasions when it was 
displayed toward her, — “ you will understand that I mean 
what I say, and I request that you will not give Horace 
anything out of your private purse unless I am first con- 
sulted.” 

Horace took the bank-note extended toward him, mut- 
tered something too low for his father to catch, and left 
the parlor, banging the door behind him. 

Mr.‘ Wylder sighed painfully as he resumed his reading, 
but nothing further was said on the subject by either hus- 
band or wife, and Mrs. Wylder finished her novel before 
she went to bed. 

But Horace had no intention of letting the matter rest 
thus. The next day as his mother was sitting in her 
room before lunch, he came in, and flung himself down 
on the sofa, first giving her a kiss. She looked pleased at 
the unusual tenderness, and asked him if he would go out 
to drive in the Park with her before dinner. 

“ Bother ! no,” said he impatiently. “ I’ve an appoint- 
ment at three. I say, mother, what made papa so cross 
.ast night ? Has he been losing anything down town ? ” 

“ Mercy ! I hope not,” ejaculated Mrs. Wylder. “ How 
you frightened me, you sad naughty boy. On the con- 
trary, I heard him say last week that he had been very 
fortunate in a speculation.” 

“ Then why is he so confounded mean as not to let me 
have that fifty dollars ? ” cried the dutiful son. 

You have been getting into debt again,” said Mra 


HORACE. 


103 


Wylder, a terrified look crossing her face. “You know 
how very angry your father would be at such a thing. 
I wish,” fretfully, — “I wish you would behave better. 
Like Regie Gray, for instance.” 

“ Don’t hold up that prig to me,” said he. “ I’m sick 
of his name. That big-eyed child talks of him from 
morning till night. Wliat do I care for Reginald Gray ? 
But, mother, pretty little mother,” changing his rude tone 
for a wheedlesome one, “ I’m in a horrid scrape, and 
you’d better give me some of your spare money to help 
me out of it.” 

“ Who are you in debt to now ? ” asked she. 

“Most of it ’s a bill at Carter’s. Well,” defiantly, as 
his mother uttered an exclamation of disgust. “ I don’t 
Bmoke any more cigars or drink any more champagne 
than Cliff De Peyster, whom you’re always so precious 
glad to see me with — there ! ” 

“ But, Horace, indeed, I don’t dare to give you any of 
my money this time ; you heard what your father said. 
And, beside, I really have not got more than seventy-five 
dollars in my purse, and I must pay some of the bills for 
Marjorie’s wardrobe to-day.” She spoke with unusual 
decision. An angry glow rose to Horace’s forehead. 

“ I wish that beggar child was dead and buried before 
you brought her into the house to spend your time and 
money on. Can’t you give me anything f I’m afraid 
Carter will keep his threat of sending in his account to 
father unless I pay part of it to-day.” 

“ Dear me ! I don’t know what to do,” cried his mother, 
helplessly ; “ I believe there is twenty-five dollars in my 
iesk (it ’s part of Fanchon’s wages, but I can make it up 
h some way), and you can have that.” 

“ I want fifty,” said Horace, doggedly. 


104 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ Then you’ll have to want it,” said Mrs. Wylder, pet- 
ulantly, taking out her keys. “ I can’t give you a cent 
more than twenty-five, and I ought not to give you that. 
Take it, quick ! here comes Marjorie.” 

Dandy trotted into the room, followed by his little mis- 
tress, and Horace thrust the bills into his vest pocket, 
Bcowled at Marjorie as she shrank out of his way, and 
bestowed a vicious kick on poor Dandy when he frisked 
playfully up to him. 

“ Mamma,” said Marjorie, in an indignant voice, taking 
Dandy up in her arms, and trying to stop his whining, “ I 
do think Horace is very unkind ! Won’t you please ask 
him to let my dog alone.” 

“ Your dog, Miss Impudence ! ” echoed Horace, in a 
sneering tone. “ Much business you have with it. Go 
back to your asylum.” 

“ O, fie ! ” said his mother as the door slammed behind 
her model son. “ Marjorie, love, he has a headache this 
morning ; don’t mind what he says.” 

But Marjorie drew a mental comparison between Hor- 
ace and Regie which was by no means complimentary to 
the former, and resolved to learn to write as soon as pos- 
sible, in order that she might give Regie a full catalogue 
of Horace’s enormities. 


WHAT BARNEY KEPT. 


105 


CHAPTER IX. 

WHAT BARNEY KEPT. 

4< A LITTLE more, to the left, papa, please ; that ’9 
n i C e, thank you,” and Regie gave a low sigh of sat- 
isfaction as he lay back on his pillows and felt the soft 
Bummer air on his pale face. 

“You are not too fat, Rex,” said Judge Gray, survey- 
ing him with a quizzical face, but very tender eyes. 
“ You remind me strongly of the man’s horse who lived 
on a straw a day.” 

“ Only when he got to the single straw he died, papa, 
and I — didn’t ! ” said Regie with a half tremble in his 
tone. 

“ No, thank God ! ” 

Regie heard, though the remark was uttered in a whis- 
per. “You have your old plague yet, papa. Dear me ! 
I wonder how long it’ll be before I can run up-stairs with 
you again.” 

“ One doesn’t recover from such an illness as yours in 
a hurry, Regie. I had a long talk with Dr. Gibbs about 
you last night, and he recommends my taking you away 
just as soon as you are strong enough to bear the journey.” 

“ Where ? ” asked Regie, with something of his old 
Animation in his manner. 

“ I have not quite decided. The doctor says you must 
fcuve mountain air, and I am thinking of some quiet place 
in the White Hills ; Conway, for instance. And (as I 
cannot be with you a 7 l the time, on account of the August 
tircuit) grandma thinks that Meta might go with your 
aunt Rachel and you.” 


106 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ Meta ? That ’s jolly ! O, papa, I could not get 
along with Aunt Rachel alone. She ’s real good ” — Regie 
hesitated — “ but somehow, she always does rub me the 
wrong way. And I think I’m cross nowadays, and I 
should miss you, papa.” The ready tears filled the blue 
eyes as his father patted him gently on his chestnut curls. 

“ Papa,” said Regie, after winking violently and swal- 
lowing something hard in his throat, “ do you think I 
might write a line or two to Marjorie this week? Meta 
wrote twice for me, but you see she’ll be ever so much 
pleased to get a note from me direct, and — and — some- 
how, papa, I have a feeling that Marjorie isn’t quite as 
happy down at Mrs. Wylder’s as she might be.” 

“ It ’s only a feeling, Rex, I imagine, for your aunt 
Helen tells me that both Mr. and Mrs. Wylder are de- 
lighted with her. But I am sorry I let her go while 
you were ill ; if I had not been so anxious about you, my 
boy, I should have tried to make a different arrange- 
ment. And your grandmother seemed to think that it 
was such a fine chance for Marjorie ” — 

“To be sure,” said Regie, hastily, not wishing his 
father to regret his decision, and determined not to show 
how much he felt Marjorie’s departure. “ It was all 
right, of course, but I don’t fancy aunt Helen’s friends 
much. And Mrs. Wylder is so fussy and fine-ladyish — 
you know what I mean. I hope Marjorie won’t grow 
up a silly little girl like Lily ; you needn’t shake your 
head, papa ; you know that Lily only thinks of dress and 
nonsense.” 

Just then there was a low tap on + he door, and Meta’s 
pleasant face peeped in. 

“ Sitting up ; why, Regie ! Uncle James, can he have 
lome grapes ? These are the first in bur grapery, and 


WHAT BARNEY KEPT. 


107 


mamma sent him half her bunch. And Miss Rachel said 
I might stay for half an hour while she went to market.” 

“ You’re always welcome,” said Regie, with a grateful 
face. 

“ How stupid I am,” said she, after a moment. 44 There 
is somebody waiting to see you, Uncle James — the oddest, 
man. I met him on the steps. 4 Are you anything to 
his Honor, the Judge,’ said he, with such a comical bob of 
his head. I told him you were my uncle, and he added 
4 Ye’re ay the same sthock, it ’s plain to see in yer purty 
eyes, Miss. Would ye plase tell Judge Gray its Barney 
Brian ud be after spaking wid him — from Wynn be- 
yont.’ ” 

Meta gave the droll Irish brogue very cleverly, and 
Regie laughed, and exclaimed in the same breath, — 

44 Barney — why, papa, that ’s Madge’s fiddler, isn’t ? 
Boor man, he’ll be so disappointed at not seeing her. I 
wish I could see him — can’t I ? ” Judge Gray shook his 
head. 

44 It would excite you too much ; why even Meta has 
brought the color to your cheeks, and I won’t let her stay 
too long. No exciting topics for this fellow, remember,” 
and pinching her blushing face, Judge Gray went down to 
Bee Barney. 

He found the Irishman standing in the hall, twirling 
his hat awkwardly in his hands, and evidently feeling out 
of place. 

44 So you found me out, Barney ? I’m very glad to see 
you,” said Judge Gray, cordially, shaking hands with the 
man. 44 Cume into my study ; how did you get here ? ” 

44 1 worked part of the way on the railroad, yer Honor, 
and part of the ways I walked, doing a turn here and 
there for me supper. And how ’s Margie, the darlint ? 
It ’s lonesome I was for her all winter.” 


108 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


Judge Gray made Barney take a chair, and then told 
him, Idndly, of Marjorie’s different homes since she left 
Wynn. But poor Barney’s face fell when he learned that 
he had come too late ; that Marjorie had gone to live in 
New York. 

“Well, I ’spose yer Honor knows best intirely,” said 
he, at last, “ but I’ll niver see me little girl again, I fear. 
Do you think she’d remember me, by and by ? — but no, 
she ’s only a bit of a child, sure.” 

“But a very affectionate one,” said Judge Gray, his 
kindly heart touched by the Irishman’s emotion. “ No, 
Barney, she won’t forget you ; I will see that she does 
not. I have something here that I am sure she would 
give you if she only knew what a long journey you had 
taken to see her ; isn’t that a good likeness ? ” 

While speaking he had opened a drawer in his desk, 
and he now took out two pictures which he handed to 
Barney. They were photographs, merely small vignettes, 
but the artist had caught the peculiar, pathetic glance of 
the soft gray eyes which was the charm of Marjorie’s face, 
and her very little self looked soberly at Barney from the 
oaper. 

“ Och ! but it ’s the very moral av her ! ” cried he, 
drawing his hand across his eyes, furtively. “ Bless her 
Bwate face — she ’s the sinsible little sowl.” 

“ One of these she sent to Regie, my son, and the other 
to me,” said Judge Gray. “ I think I’ll give mine to you, 
for I am sure Marjorie would want you to have it.” 

“ Is i f > take yer Honor’s ? ’Dade, I’d not be robbing 
you av the same,” said Barney, with true Irish politeness. 
“ Not but what I’d be plased, yis, deloighted to have such 
a purty picture — your Honor knows that.” 

“ I insist upon it,” said the Judge, smiling with the 


WHAT BARNEY KEPT. 


109 


kindliness that was so irresistible and which won its waj 
with high and low, rich and poor. Marjorie will send 
me another, when I write her all about your visit. Wh?d 
can I do for you ? Are you thinking of going to work 
here ? ” 

Barney’s embarrassment which his host’s good breeding 
had charmed away, returned to him in full force at this 
question. He thanked his Honor — he was much be- 
holden to him, — but he hardly had any plans. The 
people beyont, at Saybrooke, would be after missing 
him ; he had nothing but his fiddle, and he had wanted 
to have a talk with his Honor — and there Barney broke 
down, in utter confusion. 

44 Well,” said Judge Gray, looking merrily at him, 44 are 
you in a bit of a scrape ? I hope you haven’t been run- 
ning into the clutches of the law ; what ’s the matter ? ” 

44 Indade it ’s nothing av that kind,” Barney said 
warmly. And then gaining courage from the twinkling 
eyes opposite him, he plunged boldly into it. 

44 It ’s the letters, yer Honor ; an’ sure, I thought maybe 
she’d be losing them, it ’s such a slip of a girl she is. An I 
don’t know as they tell anything ; but the mother, says 
she, 4 Promise me to give it to him, an’ tell him I tried 
my best — my very best.’ An then she went off into some 
furrin tongue, and I shook me head, and says I, 4 Spake 
English, ma’am, for I can’t understand you,’ ” — 

44 Barney,” said Judge Gray, in a graver voice, 44 1 wish 
you would tell me what you are talking about. Do you 
mean that you have letters in your possession which be- 
longed to Marjorie’s mother?” 

44 It ’s just that same,” said Barney, with a sigh of relief. 
14 And it ’s sorry I am that I lidn’t give ’em to yer Honor 
in the first of it. But says I to meself, I ’ll not give ’em 
to Margie — the bracelet was all I gave her.” 


110 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


Bit by bit, in a curious garrulous narrative, J udge Gray 
succeeded in drawing all that Barney knew from him. It 
was the same story, in the main, which he had told Marjo- 
rie, except in regard to the packet he had kept. He told 
Judge Gray that just before her death, he had accident- 
ally been left alone with Marjorie’s mother for a few 
minutes, and that her consciousness had been very brief. 
She took the letters from under the pillow where she had 
hidden them, and begged him to carry them to 44 him.” 

44 She called whoever she was spaking av by sorra a 
name, though I axed her twice would she tell me was it 
her husband. 4 Who but him ? ’ says she. 4 He will die, 
and never know I did my best — my very best ; ’ an’ thin, 
as I’m telling yer Honor, she wint off raving in some 
language that I don’t know, and in a minute more Judy 
came back, and the purty young thing died, quite aisy.” 

44 What did she look like ? ” asked Judge Gray. 

44 Marjorie ’s the very moral of her, only the mother 
was purtier. An’ it ’s a rale lady she was I’m sure, fur 
her hands were small and white, an’ even in her raving 
she’d the manner of a born aristocrat, ye mind. Sandy 
Ferguson, at the tavern beyont, spelled out a bit av those 
letters, but sure, out av the four two was in a quare 
tongue ; look, yer Honor,” and Barney gave the letters 
into Judge Gray’s hand. 

One of the letters was written in a bold, manly hand, 
in English. It began, 44 My dear Father,” and was 
signed, 44 Your still affectionate son, George.” The two 
others were in French ; one, in the same handwriting as 
the first, was full ot terms of endearment. It was dated 
* London,” and playfully chid her for her impatience, as- 
suring her that the next steamer should carry her positive 
news of the writer’s plans. This again was signed 44 Thine 


WHAT BARNEY KEPT. 


Ill 


Dwn lover, George.” The third letter was also written in 
French, but m a different hand. It was dated at Mar- 
seilles, and told, harshly enough, that 44 la tante ” was still 
implacable and refused to hear aught of 44 Madeline.” 
“ Thou hast chosen thy path,” pursued the letter, 44 and 
may’st walk therein. We, of thy family disgraced, have 
no more to do with thee^ Go thou with thy husband into 
the nation of shop-keepers.” The signature to this letter 
had been torn off, as had the heading and address of the 
fourth letter. The last read : — 

“ Dear Madame, — In answer to yours of the 15th 
instant we have the honor to reply that the sum of money 
due you at our bankers has been drawn by your last 
cheque, and we await orders from America before ad- 
vancing further funds. Nothing has been heard from 
Dr. Rodman up to this date. Respectfully yours, 

“ Barry & Williams, Solicitors , 

“ 4 G-arden Court , East” 

Judge Gray read these letters over slowly, and with 
deepening thoughtfulness. Then he took up the first 
letter, and reread it with the greatest care. 

4 4 My dear Father, — I am aware that my marriage 
has given you the utmost displeasure, but I cannot be- 
lieve that you really mean what you say in your last 
letter. I may be a beggar, but I am not a scoundrel, 
and I could no more leave my helpless wife and child 
alone in a foreign country and do your bidding than I 
could commit forgery, or any other capital crime. I ask 
your forgiveness, humbly ; I am willing to accept the 
meanest place in your employ to gain a livelihood for 
my dear ones, but I cannot and will not accept such 
terms as your harsh letter offered me. Let me hear 


112 MARJORIE’S QUEST. 

Boon, if at all, and believe me your still affectionate 
son, George.” 

“ What does your Honor say to ’em ? ” asked Barney 
eagerly, as Judge Gray laid down the last paper. 

“ The information in them is of the most meagre de- 
scription, Barney. The foreign letters are written in 
French, but they do not even mention surnames, and 
prcve nothing. The only clew at all is in the address at 
the bottom of this letter. I will think the matter over 
carefully, and apply to Messrs. Barry & Williams, in 
London. But there is no date there to go by ; it is a 
very mysterious and singular case.” 

“An’ can’t yer Honor find out Margie’s father? ” asked 
Barney, in a disappointed voice. 

“ I wish I could,” said Judge Gray, heartily. “ But 
there is very little to go upon. I think you were quite 
right not to give Marjorie these letters. I shall not tell 
the child one word about them, or raise any false hopes. 
She is in good hands, and I give you my word that I 
shall always look to her welfare.” 

“ An’ bedad ! that ’s as good as yer Honor’s bond any 
day,” said Barney warmly, tears rising in his eyes. 

“ Thank you,” with a smile. “Well, shall I speak a 
good word for you to anybody ? ” 

“ If yer Honor would be so good,” said Barney, in an 
insinuating voice. “ If there’d be a porter’s place, or a 
waiter's, in some saloon, loike, — a day place, av you 
plase, for I’m wanting the nights till meself, on account 
nv the fiddle.” 

“ So you brought that with you,” said Judge Gray 
laughing. “I’ll remember, Barney, and if you will caL 
here in two days I will look about and see what I can do, 


WHAT BARNEY KEPT. 


113 


My son has been very ill and is just recovering from a 
fever; he wants to see you. Marjorie has often talked 
of you to liim.” 

“ I’d be proud to see the young masther ; sure, I’ve 
heard Mrs. Merrill talk av him many a time. Many 
thanks to yer Honor for all favors, more especially the 
picture of Marjorie ; it ’s a foine, noble-hearted j auntie’ 
man yees is, an’ it ’s ^Barney Brian will maintain that 
same. Good-day, yer Honor ; I hope I’ve not taken up 
yer morning talking wid the loikes av me.” 

But after Barney left him, Judge Gray read the letters 
over for the third time, and having made careful memo- 
randa of the solicitors’ address in London, he opened his 
desk and put the papers safely away in one of the pigeon- 
holes. He would have told Regie the story except that 
he feared it might prove too romantic and exciting in the 
boy’s present state of health ; no, it was best to leave it 
as it stood until he had written to London and received 
the answer. So thinking, he locked his desk and walked 
up-stairs. Meta was sitting on her low stool, reading ; 
and, lying back in his invalid chair, a faint glow of re- 
turning health on his pale cheeks, lay Regie fast asleep* 


0 


114 


MAltJORIE’S QUEST* 


CHAPTER X. 

Horace’s revenge. 

M RS. WYLDER sat in her boudoir in a stab* )f sup- 
pressed excitement. In one hand she held a large 
feather fan, in the other a handkerchief, which she con- 
sidered it necessary to apply frequently to her eyes, be- 
tween the intervals of her directions to Fanchon, who was 
upon her knees on the floor in front of a large trunk 
which she was packing. 

“ My grenadine goes on top, Fanchon ; dear me, not 
the one trimmed with fringe. I said the silk one, — how 
can I go to the house of mourning with fringe and bugles ? ” 
demanded Mrs. Wylder pathetically, raising her eyes to- 
ward the gilt moulding of the ceiling as if asking advice 
of somebody lurking in the cornice. 

“ If madame pleases,” said Fanchon, respectfully, u I 
could remove the fringe in half an hour, and ” — 

“ Half an hour ! Is the girl crazy ? Did not Mr 
Wylder say I must be ready to take the evening boat, 
and we must allow an hour or more to drive down to the 
dock. I do think, Fanchon, you have no ideas at all.” 

“ Pardon, madame, but the grenadine of silk* is soiled 
with the coffee that madame spilt on it. I knew madame 
would not wear that , and the bugles will not show under 
the crape, — or does madame not mean to wear crape save 
for the funeral ? ” 

“ Crape — for my dear sister — of course ! And there ’s 
another trial ; it ’s such horrid mourning to wear, Fan- 
cb on. One looks like a cloud of ink.” 


HORACE’S REVENGE. 


115 


“But with madame’s fair skin and hair she can but 
»ook the more — what you call ? — ah ! interesting. Ma- 
dame’s robe of plain black is ever most becoming,” cried 
Fanchon. 

i Mrs. Wylder put down her handkerchief. “ Well, per- 
haps I may not look quite a fright, but I shall expect you 
to use your utmost taste on the dress I have ordered. 
Five folds of crape above the flounce, unless you think 
that looks too heavy for the season, in which case you will 
put on three, and pipings. And make some black neck- 
ties for Master Horace, and finish that white tucked dress 
for Miss Marjorie.” 

“ How long will madame be away ? ” asked Fanchon 
m a deprecating voice. 

“Not more than three days,” said Mrs. Wylder 
sharply. “ My feelings are so sensitive ; I cannot bear to 
stay among my grief-stricken family. I leave Miss Mar- 
jorie quite in your charge, Fanchon. Do not permit her 
to go out in the heat of the day, but you may take her 
out to the Park after five in the afternoon. Andrew has 
asked permission to go into the country for two days, sc 
the horses will not be used, and you and John and Cook 
can take care of the house. Give Mr. Horace his meals 
as usual (but that ’s John’s business — I’ll mention h to 
him ), and do not let Marjorie have an over amount of 
fruit. There,” as the door opened, “ finish the packing 
as soon as you can, Fanchon. Has Miss Thornton gone, 
my love ? ” 

“ Yes, mamma,” said Marjorie, laying her armful of 
l »ooks on the sofa. “ And she said that her headache 
was so bad that I might leave my French verb until to- 
morrow. I thought perhaps I might recite it to Fanchon 
— O, mamma ! are we going away ? ” 


116 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ Your papa and I are going, love, on a very sad jour* 
ney. We had a telegram announcing the sudden death of 
my dear sister Maria — Mrs. Fellowes ; and we are going 
up to their place, just back of Poughkeepsie (an elegant 
country-seat, dear ; graperies, and hot-houses, and all that 
Bort of thing, which poor Maria took such pride in, alas !) 
for the funeral. I shall leave you in Fanchon’s charge, 
and I know you will be a very good little girl.” 

“ How long will you be gone, mamma ? Is Horace 
going? ” 

“ My patience ! no, child. Horace has sensitive feel- 
ings like myself, and he would only be made unhappy by 
going into such a house of affliction. To-day is Wednes- 
day ; we shall be back on Saturday night, I think, or, at 
latest, on Sunday morning, by boat.” 

“ Please mamma,” said Marjorie, in a timid voice, with 
a very distrustful face, “ will you ask Horace not to tease 
me while you’re gone ? I know he will, and there won’t 
be anybody to make him mind.” 

If Marjorie had known that the petition was overheard 
by Horace she would probably never have made it ; for 
she had by this time learned that the certain way to in- 
duce him to perform an act was to beg him not to do it. 
Master Horace was at that unlucky moment sitting at 
the top of the staircase, perched on the banister, eating 
some preserved limes which he had stolen from the cook’s 
pantry, and as he heard Marjorie’s request through the 
half open door of his mother’s room, he chuckled, stuck 
his tongue in his cheek and his thumb on his nose, and 
ejaculated mentally, “ O, you precious fool ! I’ll serve 
you out.” 

Mrs. Wylder promised, and meant to keep her word 
but her mind soon reverted to the dress which Fan chon 


HORACE’S REVENGE. 


117 


Dad planned for her, and in giving more minute directions 
about it, and changing her mind four times in regard to 
the crape trimming, Marjorie’s request slipped from her 
mind. Indeed, if it had not, it is extremely doubtful 
whether his mother’s command would have altered mas- 
ter’s Horace’s plans. So, in a great bustle and lamenta- 
tion, Mrs. Wylder got off at last, and Marjorie sat down 
to her solitary dinner, John standing behind her chair in 
as solemn state as if his mistress had been looking on. 
Horace had gone out to dine with Jack Miller, one of his 
classmates, and it must be said that Marjorie felt his 
absence was a relief. But John’s majesty was so oppres- 
sive to her that at last she sent him up-stairs to fetch 
Dandy and Seraphina, and with the former contentedly 
at her feet, and the latter in a chair at her side, she fin- 
ished her dessert in comparative comfort. 

The next day Marjorie met Horace at breakfast in 
fear and trembling. She had a vague feeling that what 
ever reckoning he meant to visit upon her would descend 
upon her head now. But Horace, on the contrary, was a 
shade more affable than usual, and helped Marjorie twice 
to the best half of the melon before him, which surprised 
her, for he was famous for attending to No. 1 at all times, 
and particularly at dinner. 

“ John,” said Horace rising from the table at last, 
“ I want my horse brought around at five to-day, and you 
may keep some dinner for me. Go over to the stable 
and tell Disbrowe to send- the horse — the one I usually 
ride. And, by the way, where did Andrew leave the 
keys of our stable ? ” 

“ I have them, sir,’ 1 said John. 

“ But the horses are away, you know,” said Marjorie. 

“ X guess I knew that before you did,” said Horace. 


118 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ You can bring the keys up to my room, John. I’L 
keep them until my father returns.” 

The event of Marjorie’s day was the arrival of a letter 
from Regie. Yes, actually from Regie himself, although 
it was written with a pencil, in rather shaky handwrit 
ing, and was hardly more than a note. Marjorie got 
Miss Thornton to read it for her, and then learned it by 
heart. 

“ You dear little Madge, — I’ve made Meta give 
me the pencil, for I was bound to write myself this time. 
I am really getting better, though I am pretty shaky, 
even yet, and don’t have good nights. Papa is going to 
take me (with Meta and Aunt Rachel) up to a place in 
the White Mountains, and when I come home I mean to 
coax him to let me come by way of New York and stop 
and see you. Be sure and write me often. I liked your 
printed letter very much. I send a kiss for Seraphina. 
Don’t forget the 4 Red Cross Knight,’ 

44 Your affe 0 . 44 Regie.” 

44 Miss Thornton,” said Marjorie, with a delighted face, 
“Don’t you think my Regie writes beautiful letters? 
Do you ’spose I’ll ever write one half as nice ? ” 

Miss Thornton smiled. 44 If you try very hard, Mar- 
jorie. Take care of those capital R’s — that looks very 
much like a B.” 

The afternoon was very hot, quite too warm, Fanchon 
declared, for Mam’selle or herself to go out to the Park, 
In fact, Marjorie was not very anxious to go ; she had a 
new story book which Mr. Wylder had given her just be- 
fore he Ifeft, and it was very comfortable to sit in the cool 
library with Dandy at her feet and play reading aloud t« 


HORACE’S REVENGE. 


119 


Seraphina. Fanchon had a toothache, and that, with the 
heat, made her very cross, so she went away to her own 
room in the attic and took out a small bottle of chloro- 
form which she kept to use in such emergencies. She 
was desperately afraid of the stuff, however, but the pain 
was very great and she tpok more than usual to sooth? 
the tooth. Poor Fanchon ! how bitterly she reproached 
herself for it afterward. 

Dinner time came, and, very much to Marjorie's sur- 
prise, Horace made his appearance at the table. She 
tried to be as pleasant as possible, and (finding that he 
seemed inclined for conversation) she told him that Miss 
Thornton was ill, and had proposed to give her a holiday 
to-morrow. 

“ I’ll tell you what,” said Horace, as if suddenly struck 
with a new thought. “ We’ll let the servants have a 
holiday, too, all except Fanchon, and we’ll play keeping 
house.” 

“ What ? ” said Marjorie, rather startled at this prop- 
osition. , 

“ John ’s going to Hoboken, and Andrew ’s off ; there ’s 
only the cook left, and I’ll bet you she’d like to go out for a 
picnic or something. And, if you’re a very good girl, 
I’ll take you down to Delmonico’s and give you a dinner.” 

“ Would mamma like it ? ” asked Marjorie. Horace’s 
fit of amiability made her feel uncomfortable, instinct- 
vely. 

“ Why shouldn’t she ? On second thoughts, I gueerj 
I’ll not let the cook go. Confound you, you nasty little cur ! 
what do you mean by jumping on me ? ” 

Dandy’s dinner was generally given him at dessert, and 
that being now upon the table he had ventured to remind 
Horace of his presence. Marjorie jumped out of hex 


120 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


chair, but not in time to arrest the blow, and poor Dandy 
fled crying to his mistress. 

“ Let my little dog alone ! ” cried she, passionately, the 
color rushing up into her cheeks. “ I will speak to papa 
if you treat Dandy so ; he didn’t mean any harm ; he 
only wanted his dinner.” 

“ I’d kill him — just as lief as not — only father might 
give me something worse than a boarding-school to pay 
for it. And I’ll punish you on the spot for your im- 
pudence to me, Miss Irish Beggar.” 

He caught Dandy up in his arms as he spoke, and ran 
out of the room. Marjorie followed him, calling wildly 
for her dog, but Horace retreated into the library, and 
dodged around the table until Marjorie was so giddy that 
she could hardly stand. Then, taking advantage of her 
unsteadiness, he evaded her by a skillful leap, and was out 
of the room in a second, giving a loud laugh of triumph, 
as he locked the door behind him. 

Leaving Marjorie to comfort herself as best she could, 
Horace proceeded up-stairs, two steps at a time, and de- 
posited Dandy in his closet, giving him a cake to keep 
him quiet. Then he shut the closet door, and went to the 
mantel, where he took up the stable keys, and carefully 
shutting up the outside door of his room, he went down 
the back stairs. On the way, he looked into John’s pan- 
try, where, ordinarily, at this hour, John would be en- 
gaged in washing the dinner dishes ; but John’s gas was 
turned off, and John himself had slipped in next door for 
a “ quiet cup of tay ” with the lady’s maid, who was a 
great friend of his. 

“ Coast all clear,” thought Horace. “ Won’t I serve 
her a precious trick ! ” 

Below stairs everything seemed quiet. The cook, like 


Horace’s revenge. 


121 


John, had evidently gone out to see a neighbor and taken 
the key of the basement door with her. Horace went 
out through the hall door at the end of the house, and 
proceeded slowly to the stable. It was about eight o’clock 
in the evening, and growing darker; the street lamps 
were being lit, over in Thirty-fourth Street. He opened 
the stable door. A low sound, between a whine and a 
bark, greeted him. 

“ Are you there, Hyder ? ” said he, feeling his way 
along inside. He had not dared to bring a lantern. 
“ Poor old fellow! good dog. Want a drink, eh ? ” 

He loosened the chain as he spoke, and a splendid Rus- 
sian blood-hound bounded upon him with a half -savage, 
half -kindly bark. It was the dog which Mr. Wylder had 
refused to let him have, but Jack Miller, Horace’s ally, 
had purchased Hyder, and loaned him to Horace for two 
days. To do Jack justice, he had no idea that the dog 
was to be used to torture Marjorie ; Horace represented 
that in the coachman’s absence he wanted to keep him in 
the stable as a protection against burglars. 

Whistling softly, he coaxed Hyder into the basement 
hall. The house was a large one, and beside the kitchen, 
laundry, and the room where the servants dined, there 
was a small front room by the door which Mr. Wylder 
formerly used as a sort of office. It was still partially 
furnished, and the low book-cases and office-table re- 
mained standing there. Horace opened the door of this 
room, dragged Hyder inside and proceeded to tie him to 
the leg of the table. The rope attached to his collar was 
pretty long, and, as the room was small, even when tied 
to the table, the dog could walk about with comparative 
c-ase. It was impossible for Hyder to move the table, 
strong as he was, for it >vas fastened to the floor, and Hor 


122 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


ace nodded his satisfaction as he completed his arrange- 
ments. Ordering Hyder to “ lie down and watch,” he 
went out, and shut the door behind him. 

After calling Horace vainly, Marjorie thought that she 
had better sit down and wait patiently until John came 
up to light the gas in the hall, when she could ask him to 
unlock the door. She did not think Horace would dare 
to hurt Dandy, and she listened intently to see if she 
heard him crying. She was dreadfully anxious about 
him, though she tried to persuade herself that she was 
not, and it was an absolute relief when, after about half 
an hour, she heard Horace outside the door. 

“ Do you want your dog very badly ? ” said he, in a 
tantalizing tone. “ I’ve shut him up in a jolly place, and 
you’ll have to go and get him out for yourself.” 

“Do you mean in the house — a place in the house ? ” 
demanded Marjorie, very much in fear that Dandy had 
been locked up in the stable. 

“ Yes,” said he, opening the door and marching up to 
her. “ He ’s down in papa’s old office. Ain’t you afraid 
to go down and get him, molly-coddle? ” 

Marjorie fell into the trap just as he had calculated. 

“ Afraid ? No indeed, I’m not. Poor little dog, he’ll 
cry like everything if he ’s shut up by himself . Let go of 
my hand, Horace ; I’ll go right away.” 

Off started Marjorie for the stairs, Horace creeping 
after her, firing off taunting speeches and making shrill 
noises which made the child jump. The gas was turned 
down rather low in the basement hall, and Marjorie fum- 
bled a little with the knob of the office door. 

“ Here, I’ll open it for you,” said Horace, coming be- 
hind her, and before the child could collect her senses he 
had pushed her inside and was bolting the door on the 
outside. 


Horace’s revenge. 


123 


A hard, panting breath, two strange glaring eyes, and 
the awful sensation that something was in the room ! Ono 
wild scream of agony broke from the terrified Man 
jorie : — 

“ Horace ! John — O, come ! Let me out — O ! ” — a 
prolonged shriek. 

u How do you like my dog ? ” called Horace, banging 
on the door, with a brutal laugh. “ Better be civil to 
him ; he hasn’t had any dinner and there ’s no knowing 
what he might do.” 

This was a falsehood, but it answered the purpose. 
Marjorie beat the door with her little soft hands. “ Let 
me out,” prayed the sobbing breath. “ I will be good ; 
please Horace.” 

“ Go and tell of me again, will you ? ” mimicking her. 

“ Fanchon ! Fanchon ! ” shrieked the child. 

“ You may just call till you’re blue, Miss. I’m going 
to leave you for the night, and John and the cook are out. 
Good-by, Paddy ; you and Hyder can settle it between 
yourselves.” 

Two hours after (during which time he sat quaking 
guiltily up-stairs, expecting every moment to see John’s 
indignant face appear) Horace concluded that it might 
be as well to let his little prisoner out. He was a little 
curious how the fright would affect her, and felt a cow- 
ardly throb of fear lest he should find her in a dead faint 
on the floor. He opened the door ; Hyder sprang out, 
with a bound that nearly upset him. 

“ The deuce ! ” shouted Horace. “ How did you dare 
.o untie him? Or did he break the rope — yes, by Jove ! 
gnawed it off, I swear. Marjorie, come out f ” 

No answer. Again the idea of a fainting fit occurred 


124 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


to him. There was no stir or sound in the room. He 
took a match from his pocket and lit the gas, stared 
about — then rubbed his eyes. A breath of air floated 
across his forehead from the window above the book-case. 
The room was empty ; Marjorie was gone ! 


IN EXTREMITY. 


125 


CHAPTER XL 
IN EXTREMITY. 

I? OR some moments after the sound of Horace’s retreat- 
ing footsteps died away, Marjorie lay crouching 
against the door almost paralyzed with the agony of her 
terror. The room was sufficiently light, from the street 
gas, for her to see Hyder as he walked round and round 
the table, growling occasionally, and turning his fierce 
eyes toward her. She hardly dared to breathe lest she 
should enrage the dog, who, she fully believed, would 
tear her to pieces and make a meal of her, if he was as 
hungry as Horace said. At last a plan of escape dawned 
faintly upon her bewildered mind. If she could only get 
the window open and call a policeman ; Regie had told 
her, once, that if she ever got into any trouble in a city 
she must go to a policeman. She knew the uniform ; 
there was a nice looking man, with light, curly hair, who 
walked up and down the street in the day time ; perhaps 
she might make him hear, and get him to take her out. 
So thinking, she raised herself a little from the floor, to 
look around and see how she could reach the window. 

There were no chairs in the room, and the sofa was 
quite too low to be of any service. The book-case stood 
immediately under the window, which was very high, 
and the lower part of the sash was partly covered by the 
book-case. Still, Marjorie thought that she might open 
the window at the top if she could only get to it. As 
her eyes became gradually accustomed to the dim light, 


marjokie’s quest. 


120 

Blie saw that there was a small pile of packing boxes 
Btanding in the corner, against one end of the book-case 
once on top of those, she felt confident that she could 
climb the distance by swinging herself up by her arms. 
But the packing cases were perilously near Hyder’s prom- 
enade-ground ; would he spring at her and knock her 
down if she got within that range ? 

Slowly, step by step, Marjorie crept along, not daring 
to take her eyes off Hyder. The dog seemed to be aware 
that she meditated an escape, for he growled menac- 
ingly, and showed his desire to get away from the table 
by several jumps, and hard tugs at his rope. But she 
reached the packing boxes at last, and began to climb up 
them. That was comparatively easy work, and at last, 
hot and trembling, Marjorie clambered up on the smooth, 
level top of the book-case. Hyder yelped, lashed his tail, 
and pulled more savagely than ever at his rope ; it was 
well for the child that she could not see how far the leash 
had given way. It was but an old one, at the best, which 
Horace had found in the stable, and had taken instead of 
the chain. Hyder felt the rope slacken, and redoubled 
his efforts to break loose, but Marjorie’s back was turned 
to him. She was trying to find the catch of the window 
and push it back, but, from long disuse the spring was 
rusty, and it took some time to move it. Then Marjorie 
began to pull at the sash with all her might ; it was very 
Btiff, but at last she had the satisfaction of seeing it move 
slowly down. 

She pushed it, hard, and the air, hot as it was, seemed 
grateful to her. The room was stifling, and her violent 
exertion had nearly exhausted her. So, before calling 
“ Police,” as she had meant to do, she paused to rest 
Mid the pause was fatal to her. Hyder had broke© 


IN EXTREMITY. 


127 


his rope, and with a growl he bounded oyer to the pack- 
.ng cases. 

Marjorie looked behind her, and saw the dog’s fierce 
eyes, and heard his panting breath ; she was too terrified 
to realize that he could come no farther : she gave a 
frantic scream, tried to raise herself from her half-kneel- 
ing position, then lost her balance, suddenly, and fell for- 
ward, through the half-opened window, down, down, 
against the steps. A crash — a blinding pain ; and Mar- 
jorie lay still and senseless on the flagging. 

Policeman Rooney was on duty that night. The curly- 
haired policeman, whom Marjorie had seen, was ill, and 
Tim Rooney had taken his place. Now Tim had been 
making a visit at the grocery on the corner of Third 
Avenue, and had partaken largely of “ rale home-brewed 
poteen,” and his sight was not reliable, although his walk 
was steady enough, as he came back down Thirty-fifth 
Street. There were not many people stirring until he 
got to Lexington Avenue, and there, only a group of 
young men smoking and laughing on the corner. Far- 
ther along, between Fourth and Madison, he saw two 
shop girls, and was so taken up in trying to catch a 
glimpse of the bright black eyes of one of them that he 
scarcely noticed a ragged old woman who hurried past 
him, carrying something in her arms. That was an 
unlucky glass of poteen for you, Tim Rooney ; if you had 
only known what that old beggar was hiding it would 
have been worth some hundreds of dollars reward to you, 
a few days later. 

A few seconds after Marjorie’s fall, it chanced that a 
fetreet beggar turned into the little gate, and went down 
the basement steps. Old Moll, as she called herself, waa 
% beggar by trade, but Thirty-fifth Street was rather out 


128 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


of her usual range, and being hot and tired, she merely 
thought she could sit down on the steps and rest, pru- 
dently getting out of sight of a passing policeman. 

4 4 An’ what may that be ? ” said she to herself, as she 
3aw Marjorie’s white dress. 44 Is it a child ? begorra, 
thin, it ’s a dead one. I’ll not tech her.” 

Old Moll was just about turning away, when a gleam 
of the gas-lamp fell on the string of gold beads on Mar- 
jorie’s neck. Cupidity and avarice were Moll’s strongest 
passions, except her love for whiskey, and she ventured 
down the steps again and picked Marjorie up. The 
child’s limbs twitched as Moll touched her; evidently, 
she was living. 

Moll debated a moment what to do. She looked up at 
the house ; it was closed, even the basement door was 
locked. How the child got there in this state was a 
question which Moll did not care to investigate ; there 
were the gold beads, and soft, fine clothes, which would 
sell for a pretty penny at the pawnbroker’s, and beside, 
there was Paddy Rourke who was always wanting chil- 
dren to 44 adopt.” He’d pay her for bringing him one, 
and if the child was hurt, and died , 44 sure dead folks tells 
no tales,” thought Moll, 44 an’ there ’s the East River 
puite convanyant.” 

Marjorie’s fate was decided by that recollection. Moll 
produced an old, ragged shawl from some hidden recep- 
tacle about her person, in which she wrapped the senseless 
form of the child, first taking the precaution to unclasp 
:he beads and put them in her bosom. She was quite 
secure from observation all this time, as she crouched 
close by the basement door, under the stone steps which 
led up to the front door of the mansion. And then she 
lifted Marjorie’s light form in her skinny arms, and went 
stealthily down towards the East River. 


IN EXTREMITY. 


Moll liad to stop and rest, and wipe the perspiration 
off her dirty face several times before she reached the 
tenement she called hers. It was located in an alley in 
one of the worst quarters of the city, where pestilence 
lurked and throve on the garbage of the streets and dirt 
of the inhabitants ; where the landlords crowded more 
luckless souls into one house than it would seem possible 
could exist there. Moil’s room, in one of these broken- 
down hovels, was in the fourth story ; there was even a 
flight above that, if anything, more squalid and miserable 
than the last. Moll toiled up the stairs, swearing under 
her breath, and giving vent to a torrent of oaths as she 
stumbled over some one who was lying stretched out on 
the floor inside her door. 

“ Keep a civil tongue in yer head, gran,” said the girl, 
rising. “ Leave off cursing, this hot night. Not a breath 
can I get, sure ; I belave I’ll go into the streets.” 

“ Hold yer gab, Nancy ; gi’ me a light, till I see what 
I’m going to do wid this young ’un.” 

Nancy stumbled across the room, and after a moment’s 
fumbling, lit a tallow dip and .came back to the spot 
where Moll had deposited her burden. The flickering, 
dim light fell upon Marjorie’s little pale face and golden 
hair ; upon a ghastly streak of blood across her forehead. 

“ Lord have mercy ! ” cried Nancy, dropping down on 
her knees beside her. “ She looks like Jim — even the 
\ery mark he had whin the blow came that killed him. 
O, my poor boy ! — what divil’s work is you up to now, 
eh?” 

The last remark was uttered in a savage voice, and she 
'gripped Moll’s arm fiercely as she spoke. 

“ Whist, now,” said Moll, in more soothing accents 
than might have been expected, and glanced half fear 
9 


130 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


fully with her bleared eyes into Nancy’s excited face. 
“ I’m only doing her good, sure. It ’s a fall she had, an 
I brought her home, for you to take care of.” 

“ A fall ? ” said Nancy, suspiciously. “ It ’s a quare 
fall, I’m thinking, as would knock her sinsless like that.” 

“I swear it’s the truth,” said Moll, enforcing her re- 
mark by a string of curses. “ It ’s not hurt so bad she is, 
perhaps ; you look an’ see.” 

Nancy had by this time gotten some water in an old 
tin pan, and was bathing Marjorie’s forehead with a rag, 
very gently and softly. The girl’s face wore a more 
humanized expression, and something like a tear glittered 
in her eye as she raised her head. 

“ I don’t think she ’s kilt ; there ’s a cut here, as long as 
me finger, on her head. Hould her, Moll, an’ I’ll go 
down for some ice, round the corner, and put it ontil her.” 

Marjorie moaned, and opened her eyes for a moment, 
but presently shut them again, and returned to her stupe- 
fied state. Nancy went to the old bureau, standing in one 
corner, and found a few pennies which she had hidden 
there, and bidding old Moll “ take care of the child,” she 
clattered down the rickety stairs in hot haste. 

While she was gone, Moll improved her opportunity 
and hid the gold beads away safely in a hole in her straw 
bed. Then she took off Marjorie’s dress, and her fine 
embroidered petticoats, and leaving the child in her 
little chemise and drawers, laid her on the bed. She un- 
laced her boots (they were bronze kid, and Moll knew 
die could sell them), and putting them in her apron she 
stole stealthily down-stairs, leaving Marjorie alone. 

Nancy was gone perhaps fifteen minutes, and when she 
came back, bringing some ice in a bowl, she was accom- 
panied by a singular looking man. “ Gentleman Roddy, 


IN EXTREMITY. 


131 


as Le was called, had evidently fallen very far from his 
former position in life. He was held in some esteem by 
his associates, as a doctor, and (when sober) had been 
known to cure the different sick people who came under 
liis care in Randall’s Alley. He was a man of forty-five, 
but looked much older, and although his whiskers were 
brown, his hair was nearly white. He wore it long, and 
took great pride in his TYhite locks, and they, alone, were 
sufficient to attract attention from a casual observer. 
How he lived nobody knew, but as he had never been 
concerned in any of the burglaries by which his associates 
gained a precarious livelihood, he was generally supposed 
to be a receiver of stolen goods, and by his knowledge of 
the upper walks of life to dispose of them without detec- 
tion. 

44 This is the little girl — me dead sister’s child,” said 
Nancy, glibly, lifting Marjorie in her arms. 44 An’ it ’s a 
bad fall she got, down the stairs and hurted her head. I 
was frightened most to death whin I see her laying there ; 
an’ says I, 4 Moll, do you mind her, an’ I’ll run for Gen- 
tleman Roddy.’ It ’s lucky I was to run agin ye at the 
shop.” 

While she was talking, Nancy was cutting away the 
soft yellow hair from the cut on Marjorie’s head, and now 
she looked anxiously up into Gentleman Roddy’s face to 
read his opinion. 

44 A bad cut,” said that personage, in a voice which, 
though thick from liquor, was a refined voice enough. 
14 She ’s saved herself by a narrow shave ; I’ll sew it up.” 
(Vnd infinitely to Nancy’s surprise, Gentleman Roddy 
took rnt a case of well worn surgical instruments, and 
Began to use them with no small degree of skill. 

44 1 shouldn’t wonder if that child had a serious fit of 


132 


makjorie’s quest. 


illness,” said be, looking at ber carefully. “ And I don’t 
know bow sbe’ll come out of it. It ’s a bad flesh wound ; 
her bead isn’t injured, and very possibly the loss of 
blood will do ber no harm. You just keep ice on ber, 
and come after me to-morrow — if I don’t have a fit of 
del. trem. I’ll prescribe for her.” 

“ Couldn’t ye kape away from the drink ? ” said Nancy. 
“ It ’s a fine doctor is spoiled in ye, I’m thinking.” 

A shade crossed the man’s face. “ None of that, my 
girl,” said be roughly. “ I didn’t ask your story, and 
you’ve no interest in mine.” 

“lax your parding, sir,” said Nancy, involuntarily. 

“No matter,” said be, returning to bis ordinary tone 
of easy good-nature. “ Your sister’s child, eh ? That ’s 
rather nice looking linen ; is your sister well off ? ” 

Nancy colored, and changed ber position uneasily. 

“ You’d better not let Moll get bold of that garment,” 
said Gentleman Roddy. “ You’re a good-hearted girl, 
Nancy. Here ’s something for ice,” and be put a little 
money in ber band. 

“ Thank ye, kindly,” said Nancy hoarsely. “ I’ll take 
care of ber, never fear. She looks like my Jim — poor 
boy ! ” 

“ I never knew you bad a child,” said be, surveying 
the agitated face before him. 

“ ’Dade but I bad,” burst out Nancy. “ A pretty, blue- 
eyed little fellow, only three years old whin — it hap- 
pened. My man is Moll’s grandson, an’ be never could 
abear the sight of the child — I don’t know why. An 
Jim always got out of his way ; he was cute, he was* 
But one night whin Moll and my man was after a big 
spree, little Jim come creeping along the floor, an’ Moll, 
•he stumbled over him, and ” — Nancy’s voice sank into 


IN EXTREMITY. 


133 


R fierce whisper — “ his father tuck up the stool an’ hit 
him a crack across the head wid it. He just laid two 
days like that,” pointing to Marjorie, “ and the third 
day he opened his two blue eyes at me. ‘ Mammy,’ says 
he — an’ died. I’m not rightly in my head sometimes 
since ; ” and Nancy looked piteously up into Gentleman 
Roddy’s face. 

“ Mind you take care of this one,” said he, turning 
away quickly. “I’ll be^on hand to-morrow.” 

Nancy, with unusual politeness, opened the door for 
him, and held the tallow candle above her head as he 
went down the dark stairs. After he had gone, she came 
back into the room and sat down by Marjorie’s side. 
Hours after, old Moll came home in a state of maudlin 
drunkenness, and wept bitterly as she lay prone on the 
floor, because Nancy “ thought more of that brat than 
she did of her old granny,” and, finally, fell into the 
stupor of intoxication. All night long Nancy sat bathing 
Marjorie’s head and face, with the same strangely gentle 
hands, and when morning dawned it found her still at 
her chosen post beside the unconscious child. 


L34 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


CHAPTER XII. 

REGIE SPEAKS HIS MINX). 

u T OST. — On the evening of August 20.. from No. — 
-Li West Thirty-fifth Street, a little girl about eleven 
years of age, named Marjorie. Rather small, with fair 
complexion, gray eyes, and golden hair ; was dressed in 
white, with a blue sash, and a string of gold beads around 
her neck. A large reward will be paid for any informa- 
tion in regard to her, by John Wylder, Broker, 57 
Wall Street.” 

This advertisement had appeared in all the principal 
papers in New York, but, although three weeks had 
slipped away since Marjorie’s disappearance, no clew had 
yet been found to unravel the mystery of her fate. And 
Mr. Wylder sat in his office down town with a graver 
and paler face than ever, and consulted the best de- 
tectives, in vain ; while Mrs. Wylder roamed restlessly 
around her house and bemoaned “ that dear child ” to 
Fanchon, a dozen times a day. 

Horace had managed matters very cleverly. After 
closing the window through which the poor child had 
fallen, he took Hyder back to the stable and chained him 
for the night, resolving to return him to Jack Miller very 
early in the morning. Then he went into the basement, 
opened the door, and reconnoitered the area and the front 
steps. But, as Marjorie was already blocks away under 
old Moll’s shawl, of course he discovered no traces of her 
Seeing Tim Rooney walking up and down the opposite 
•dde of the street, he crossed over arid interrogated the 


REGIE SPEAKS HIS MIND. 


135 


policeman, saying that the little girl must have slipped 
out while he was up-stairs. But “ sorra a gir-il ” had 
Tim seen, he declared ; and Horace, by this time feeling 
guilty and miserable enough, sneaked back into the house 
and went to bed. 

In the morning he was awakened by loud screams. 
They proceeded from Fanchon, who had gone into Mar- 
jorie’s little room, and was terrified to find it empty. The 
bed had not been slept In, and John said that Mam’selle 
was not down-stairs when he shut up the house last night, 
— what had Master Horace done with la pauvre enfant ? 
Master Horace flew into a rage at the question. What 
had he to do with the Irish brat, he’d like to know ? Was 
it not Fanchon’s place to look after her, and where had 
she been last evening ? Gallivanting with the cook, no 
doubt ; just wait until papa and mamma came home, and 
see what they would say to such doings in the house. 

Fanchon, with tears and sobs, protested that Mam’selle 
very seldom had her at night, now ; she, the capable, 
preferred to put herself asleep, — Madame had so di- 
rected. And had not she, Fanchon, been without sense 
because of her horrible malady of the teeth ? was she 
not compelled to resort to medicine dangerous for relief ? 
Never, never again would she do it, — alas! la pauvre 
enfant , the one friend of Fanchon in the maison, except 
Monsieur. It was not like Mam’selle to go thus alone , 
she would run for ze police, — aye, this moment. 

But Horace told her fiercely that he would attend to 
that part of it, and questioned the two other servants 
dosely as to the last time they had seen Marjorie. 

John said that when he was lighting the gas in the 
nail, he had heard Marjorie call him from the library, 
kit on going to the door he found that she was locked 


136 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


in — Here John paused and looked at Horace, whc 
turned pale in spite of his efforts to look unconcerned. 

“ Yes,” said Horace, trying to carry off the matter 
with a bold face, “ she was saucy and impudent to me 
at dinner, and I locked her up awhile as a punishment. 
The last time I saw her, she was going down the base- 
ment stairs to look for Dandy. Now, John, get my 
breakfast, and after that I’ll go out and speak to a po- 
liceman.” 

Fanchon was at her wit’s end. She talked the matter 
over with John and the cook at least a dozen times that 
morning, but the more they said the less intelligible it 
grew. The excitable and warm-hearted Frenchwoman 
had become warmly attached to Marjorie, and she was 
really in deep distress and anxiety about the child. And 
although she had sense enough not to relate her suspi- 
cions to the other servants, she made up her mind that 
Master Horace knew more of the cause of Marjorie’s dis- 
appearance than he chose to admit. 

Horace’s first move, after his breakfast, was to go 
around to Jack Miller’s and ask him to come for Hyder. 
Andrew, the coachman, was coming back with the horses 
that day, and it was necessary to remove the dog before 
ois return, as he might inform Mr. Wylder of his having 
been in the stable against his orders. 

Fate seemed to favor Horace, for Jack came right over 
and led Hyder away just as Andrew and the horses came 
up to the stable. But whatever movement Horace might 
have made in regard to putting Marjorie’s disappearance 
in the hands of the police was frustrated, for, as he came 
around through the alley, after seeing Jack and Hyder 
safely off the premises, he saw a carriage draw up in 
front of the door, from which alighted his father and 
mother. 


REGIE SPEAKS HIS MIND. 


1B7 


^ hat Horace did in this sudden emergency was rush 
up to them both, and before his mother could get inside 
the door, which John was holding open for her, he ex- 
claimed: “O mamma! Marjorie’s been missing ever 
since last night, and nobody knows where she ’s gone.” 

There ensued a regular scene, just as Horace had in- 
tended. Fanchon flew down to her mistress, and began 
to tell the story of herToothache and the chloroform, and. 
Mrs. Wylder considered that hysterics was the proper 
thing under the circumstances, so she tottered into the 
nearest room and went off into a regular turn of her fa- 
vorite malady. Mr. Wylder vainly endeavored to make 
himself heard in the Babel, and at last, taking Horace by 
the shoulder, he walked with him into the library, and 
shutting the door, demanded what it was all about ? 

“ Why, it ’s just that, sir,” said Horace, weighing his 
• words, and trembling with fear lest he should be found 
out. “ Marjorie disappeared last night in the most mys- 
terious way. Fanchon supposed she was with me, and I 
was in my room ; and she did not, to my knowledge, 
come up-stairs after dinner.” 

“ Horace,” said his father, fixing his eyes upon him 
sternly, “ what did you have to do with Marjorie’s leav- 
ing the house ? She never goes out alone (your mother 
forbade it), and she is always obedient; there must be 
some strange cause for such a singular act on her part.” 

Horace flinched at the look, but his father’s further re- 
marks gave him time to •‘ihink. 

“ You are always unjust to me,” cried he, passionately. 
“ I don’t see what J had to do with it, — it wasn’t my 
place to look after her. She was very saucy to me at 
dinner, and after dessert I locked her up in the library 
for half an hour as punishment, and then I came down 


138 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


rind let her out ; and the last time I saw ler, she was go- 
ing down the basement stairs looking for Dandy. I sup- 
pose she must have gone out of the area door.” 

Horace spoke boldly, secure in the knowledge that he 
was telling part of the truth, and forestalling John’s 
story of his having locked Marjorie up. Mr. Wylder’s 
face relaxed its sternness. He took up his hat. 

“ Then, if that is the whole story, I shall go and in- 
form the police immediately, and offer a large reward for 
information through the newspapers.” 

Before he went out, however, Mr. Wylder called all 
the servants into the library separately. The cook de- 
posed that she had gone out, taking the key of the area 
loor with her, as usual, but leaving the door unlocked, 
returning home about eleven o’clock, when John admitted 
her. John said that, after his dinner dishes were washed, 
he went in next door “ for a dish of tea with Mrs. Thorn- 
ton’s maid, sir,” and that he left the door shut, of course, 
but fastened by the night-latch, supposing that Fanchon 
would be down-stairs and admit him as the cook was out. 
When he came back at half-past ten, having knocked 
several times, he supposed that Fanchon had gone to bed, 
so he rang the door-bell, and Mr. Horace admitted him, 
and scolded him for being out when the cook was also 
absent. And that was all John had to say ; he heard 
Miss Marjorie call him from the library, but could not 
open the door, as Mr. Horace had taken the key away, 
and he did not see Miss Marjorie after that. 

The police officer whom Mr. Wylder brought back 
with him, having heard all that the servants could tell, 
asked to look at the basement door. The knob was low 
and turned easily, the night-latch, cf course, being a fast- 
ening from the outside of the door ; it was quite possible 


REGIE SPEAKS HIS MIND. 


139 


fcliat Marjorie could have opened the door without assist- 
ance and gone out. The case was extremely mysterious, 
the detective said, but if the child had only strayed away, 
Bhe might have been taken to some police station, and, in 
that case, they would soon recover her. He noted down 
all the particulars in his memoranda, took an accurate 
description of Marjorie’s personal appearance, and one of 
her photographs (a similar one to those she had sent 
Judge Gray), and went away, promising to look in at 
evening and report. 

But three weeks passed away, and no intelligence had 
been received of little Marjorie. Every measure that 
could be taken toward her discovery had been tried, but 
her fate remained a mystery. They had hoped to trace 
her through the gold beads, but no such article had been 
found at any of the numerous establishments where pro- 
fessional thieves dispose of their plunder. The detect- 
ives’ theory was that the child had been kidnapped and 
probably carried away to some other city, and they rested 
their hopes of finding her upon the large reward that Mr. 
Wylder had offered. 

Mr. Wylder after a fortnight’s search for the missing 
child, had thought it but right to inform Judge Gray of 
all the circumstances of the case, which he did in a very 
feeling letter, telling how Marjorie had endeared herself 
to him, and how lonely his home was without the pres- 
ence of one that he had hoped would be as a daughter to 
him in place of the one he had lost. Judge Gray, at 
ilie time the letter reached h* m, was spending a few days 
among the White Mountains at the little village where 
Regie had been gaining health and strength for the past 
six weeks, and Mr. Wyld?r’s lettei came with a package 
others, one of which concerned Marjorie. 


140 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


Judge Gray was sitting with Regie when the mail 
came in, and thinking that perhaps Mr. Wylder’s letter 
contained an inclosure from Marjorie, he opened it first. 
An exclamation of surprise and sorrow escaped him as 
he ran his eye over its contents. 

“ What is it, papa ? ” asked Regie, raising his eyes 
from his hook. 

“What a terrible thing! I have a letter from Mr. 
Wylder about Marjorie, poor child; — read it yourself 
and see what he says.” 

Regie seized the letter, read it over hastily, then 
turned back and read it again, as if he could hardly 
believe his eyes, and finally, looking up at his father’s 
face, and seeing only sorrow and pity written there, he 
dropped his head on his folded arms, and with all his 
manliness, sobbed aloud. 

“Don’t give up, my boy,” said Judge Gray, tears 
standing in his own bright eyes. “ I hope that Mr. 
Wylder is too desponding, and that we may yet see the 
child, all safe, in New York.” 

“ But just think of it,” said Regie, in a husky voice. 
“ She may be with bad people who will treat her cruelly 
— beat her, as that Judy did. My poor, loving, little 
Madge ! ” and down went his head again. 

“ I’ll tell you what, papa,” said he, after a few mo- 
ments ; “ there ’s no use of my staying here any longei. 
I am a great deal stronger, and if you are going down 
to New York — don’t say a word, papa, I see it in youi 
face — if you’re going, why you can just take me with 
you, and let Meta go home with Aunt Rachel.” 

Judge Gray looked at the pleading, animated face re- 
flectingly before he answered. Rex was almost himself 
again, the doctor said, and the weather was reasonablj 


REGIE SPEAKS HIS MKD. 


141 


sool for September ; lie could go to Boston, and from 
fcheie by easy stages to New York, taking Bex borne by 
boat ; the boy would fret and worry himself terribly if 
Left with Aunt Rachel, and his father never liked to be 
absent without him when he could have his society. 

“ Very well,” said he kindly ; “if you will keep early 
hours and try not to get excited and hurt yourself, I will 
consent. But before we make arrangements for leaving, 
let me read my letters, and you can run down and tell 
Meta and Aunt Rachel about poor Marjorie.” 

Regie went, and Judge Gray unfolded his packet of 
letters, and began to read them. The last of all was a 
foreign letter, and as Judge Gray turned to the signature 
he found that it was “ Barry & Williams, Solicitors.” 

“ Dear Sib, — We have delayed answering yours of 
the 21st of May on account of the absence of our senior 
partner, who would be better informed as to the matter 
of former clients than we are. Having handed your copy 
of our note, signed 4 Barry & Williams,’ to him, he looked 
over some old memoranda, and replies as follows : — 

44 The only Dr. Rodman of whom he has any recollec- 
tion was a gentleman who forwarded money drafts for 
Mrs. M. Herv6, a French lady, whose address at that 
time was in the Strand — Mr. Barry is unable to say 
rhat number ; the paper containing it has probably been 
destroyed. The drafts were upon the banking house of 
Messrs. Morgan & Co., and were for amounts not ex- 
ceeding fifty pounds. 

44 Dr. Rodman’s address at that time was 4 Care Clivo 
Bros., Importers, 34 John Street, New York.’ Of Mrs. 
Herv6 we can give you nc information, except that dur- 
ing the past year we received a communication from 


142 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


Marseilles, France, asking for her address, to which we 
returned the above answer. That letter was signed 
* Armand Herve,’ and spoke of this lady as the writer’s 
niece. 

“ Regretting our inability to afford you more accurate 
information, we have the honor to remain 
“ Your obt. servants, 

“ Barry & Williams.” 

Judge Gray made a note of the address of Clive Bros., 
resolving to call there while in New York, and then he 
went down to join Regie. 

That night, as he sat alone with Regie in his own 
room, Judge Gray told him Barney’s errand, and showed 
him the letter which Barry & Williams had written. 
Regie was intensely interested. 

“ Why, papa, it looks as if we might find out some- 
thing about Marjorie, after all. She told me all that 
story, herself, and I’ve got the little bracelet at home in 
my strong box. ‘ M. H.’ — why ! it must be her mother’s 
initials, don’t you see ? Those Englishmen say her name 
was Mrs. Herve — dear Madge, how glad she’ll be to 
prove she isn’t Irish ! ” 

Judge Gray Was glad to see that his interest in finding 
out Marjorie’s parentage had made Regie partially for- 
getful of the child’s disappearance, and he sat up half an 
hour later talking over the subject, and entering strongly 
into Regie’s warm partisanship. Though it must be 
confessed that the more Judge Gray reflected upon the 
strange circumstances of Marjorie’s fate, the less prob- 
ability he saw of finding her ; are there not, alas ! toe 
many cases of disappearance on record whose mygfcerj 
aaa rever been solved ? 


REGIE SPEAKS HIS MIND. 


143 


Tlie easy stages by which they travelled to New York 
seemed very long to Regie, but his father evidently knew 
far better than he how fictitious his strength was, for 
when they arrived at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, he was 
obliged to go to his room and rest before dinner, Judge 
Gray promising to take him to the W ylders’ in the 
evening. 

In the gentleman’s reading room (where Judge Gray 
went, leaving Regie to take his nap quietly) he found a 
brother Judge, named Ransom, whom he had not seen 
for some years, and was glad to meet again. Judge 
Ransom was an old resident of New York, and it occurred 
to Judge Gray that he might be able to give him some 
information as to the firm of Clive Bros. So, presently, 
he asked the question. 

“ Yes,” Judge Ransom said, “ I know the name, though 
not the gentlemen, personally. It ’s a very wealthy 
importing house, and they have branches abroad, in 
Lyons, I think, or Marseilles. The old sign used to be 
Selden Clive . & Co. I remember old Mr. Clive well ; it 
seems to me I have heard that he had a paralytic stroke 
and went away from New York to his country-place — 
where, I don’t know. He was very eccentric ; the busi- 
ness is now carried on by his sons.” 

A gentleman who was s : tting next them laid down 
his newspaper, and addressed Judge Ransom, politely. 

“ If your friend desires any information in regard to 
he fir m of Clive Bros., I shall be happy to afford it. 
belden Clive is my father ; I am senior partner, and the 
bead of the Philadelphia branch of the business.” 

Judge Gray shook hands with Mr. Clive, and pro- 
ceeded to inquire whether h 3 could give him any infor- 
mation of a Dr. Rodman, who (he 30uld not give the 


144 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


date, owing to imperfect memoranda, but it was probably 
some six or eight years since) had at one time sent drafts 
to England in the care of the firm. 

“ Rodman ? ” said Mr. Clive. “ Rodman ? stay, I do 
remember him. He was a dissipated fellow, and lost 
quite a good practice through his bad habits, and if I 
recollect rightly, my brother employed him as book- 
keeper for a short time. The reason for his so doing ” — 
Mr. Clive hesitated, and a cloud passed over his face — 
“ was a family one. He had been a college friend of my 
youngest brother ; ” he paused, rather abruptly, almost 
as if he had been about to add something more, and 
stopped short. 

“ Could you give me Dr. Rodman’s present address ? ” 
asked Judge Gray. 

“ I cannot. I remember that the cause of his leaving 
was a drunken frolic, and rather a disgraceful one, too. 
It came to my father’s ears, and he was very angry, 
although perhaps there were other causes for his disliking 
Rodman. I can make inquiries of my brother, however, 
and will do so with pleasure ; but I feel quite confident 
that we have lost sight of the man, if, indeed, he has not 
drank himself to death by this time.” 

Judge Gray thanked him, and presented him with his 
card, and then the three gentlemen had a pleasant con 
versation upon other topics, which lasted until dinner 
time. 

Mrs. Wylder was sitting in her parlor when Judge 
Gray and Regie were announced that evening, and she 
met them with a distressed face. 

“ O, Judge Gray, I am almost afraid to see you — and 
you, Master Reginald. That dear child ! just when I 
nad grown to love her, and Mr. Wylder was so attached 


REGIE SPEAKS HIS MIND. 


145 


to her He has actually grown thin with his anxiety 
and worry for the last three weeks, and I have not been 
equal to going to Newport as I intended. It ’s quite like 
a death in the house,” and Mrs. Wylder raised her 
black-bordered handkerchief to her eyes, and sobbed 
nervously. 

“ Have you heard nothing of Marjorie, then? ” asked 
Judge Gray. Regie turned pale at the answer. 

“ No, nothing. It is so mysterious, and that makes it 
the more painful. For myself, I think she is dead,” 
said Mrs. Wylder, in a tragic whisper. 

“ My dear madam, pray be careful,” said Judge Gray, 
in an undertone, glancing anxiously toward Regie, as his 
unspoken fear was thus put into words. “ Is your hus- 
band at home ? ” 

Mrs. Wylder said that she believed he was, and rang 
the bell for John, who brought back a message that his 
master would like to see Judge Gray in the library. 

Regie cast an imploring glance at his father, not wish- 
ing to be left to Mrs. Wylder’s tender mercies, but 
thinking that Mr. Wylder might want to consult him 
privately, Judge Gray gave a negative shake of the head 
and followed John. 

Mrs. Wylder talked on ; Regie had never thought her 

tiresome before, and she persisted in talking of Mar- 
jorie in a way that was like touching a raw nerve, to 
him. Getting warmed up with her subject, the lady 
finally insisted upon Regie’s accompanying her up-stairs 
to see Marjorie’s room. Everything stood just as the 
child had left it, and tears rushed into Regie’s eyes as he 
law Seraphina in the arm-chair, and he all tut turned 
his back on Mrs. Wylder to prevent her seeing hie 
emotion. 


10 


146 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ I tlrink Horace found a bit of paper in the library 
which was the beginning of a letter to you,” said Mrs. 
YVylder, as they went down-stairs again. “ He must 
give if to you — O, there he is now,” as the hall door 
opened and Horace came in. “My son, this is Mr. 
Reginald Gray.” 

Regie hesitated half a second before offering his hand, 
which Horace instinctively perceived, and registered 
against him, accordingly. 

“ How are you, Gray ? ” said he, carelessly. “ It ’s a 
pretty warm evening for September, is it not ? ” 

“ I’ve been showing him Marjorie’s room,” said hia 
mother, “ and I wish you would give Reginald that papei 
you had yesterday.” 

“ He ’s welcome to it,” said Horace, leaving his mother, 
and leading the way into the library. “ That is, if you 
care anything for such rubbish. Mother always makes 
such a scene.” 

Regie did not admire the contemptuous tone, so he 
said, rather indignantly, “It is no wonder she feels very 
badly about Marjorie — such a lovely little girl as she is.” 

“ Ho ! ” said Horace, “ I couldn’t see much 4 lovely ’ 
about her. It ’s dreadful business, of course,” recollecting 
that he ought to express some regret, “ but she’ll turn up 
yet, never fear. Here ’s the paper.” 

Regie took it. It was a scrap of her copy-book, witt 
two lines in odd, half printed letters : — 

“ dear Regie, i got your Splendid letter, i Love you 
with all my Hart, do come Soon.” — 

Regie’s lips trembled ; he took out his note-book and 
put the scrap carefully within it. Horace watched him 
with a sneering smile. 

“ Well, I vow ! I don’t understand that.” 


REGIE SPEAKS HIS MIND. 


147 


“ What ? ” said Regie, quietly. 

“ Such a fuss over that saucy child.” Horace, had de- 
termined to 4 take it out of Gray,” by saying what he 
thought, and the perfectly cool face before him gave no 
warning of the electricity beneath Regie’s calmness, so he 
went on boldly. 44 Yes, I call her a saucy young one. 
She was impudent enough to me that night before I 
locked her up.” 

44 Locked her up ? Where ? ” demanded Regie. Mr. 
Wylder had tried to shield his son so far as not to men- 
tion that fact. 

44 Why, in here — that ’s where I guess she wrote that 
precious paper. Anyway, I found it on the floor the next 
day, just where you are standing. You never saw such 
a house as we’ve had for the last three weeks ; mother 
crying, and that French maid making a fool of herself, 
and father having policemen here at all hours of the day, 
and looking solemn and sour enough. And what ’s it all 
about ? ” with a scornful laugh ; 44 just a dirty little Irish 
beggar picked up ” — 

Regie made one rapid step forward, and before Horace 
•»ould collect himself, he was being shaken by the collar 
•iiolently, and a pair of beautiful blue eyes were fairly 
blazing at him. 

44 Don’t you dare say that, you pitiful sneak ! ” cried 
Regie, pounding him with all his might. 44 I’ll punish 
you for locking her up — there ! there ! there ! ” 

Fanclion, passing through the hall, heard Horace howl, 
and looked on with perfect delight to see the young tyrant 
eceive his beating from 44 ce beau Monsieur,” while Mr. 
Wylder and Judge Gray came hastily across from tbs 
drawing room, to find out what could be the matter. 

44 Regie ! ” said hi3 father’s astonished voice. 


148 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ Yes, sir,” said that young gentleman, giving Horace 
a final kick, and dropping into the nearest chair, his mo* 
mentary strength vanishing. u I just gave it to him, Mr. 
Wylder, as you’d give it him your own self if he talked 
that way about Marjorie. If she ’s ever found again she’ll 
not come back nffo this house to be bullied by you, you 
abominable cad ; added Regie, quite beside himself. 
And then, as Horace scrambled up and flew toward him, 
Regie’s head fell back suddenly, and he fainted away. 

Fanchon, who had been listening outside the door, 
came immediately in answer to her master’s call, and laid 
Regie on the sofa, and brought salts, and brandy, and 
everything she could lay her hands on as a restorative. 
The faintness did not last very long, and when Regie felt 
able to sit up, his eyes turned to his father. 

“ I couldn’t help it, papa,” said he. 

Mr. Wylder, who had been talking to Horace in a low 
voice, at the other end of the room, answered him. 

“ You are quite right,” said he. “ If Horace had 
spoken to me as he did to you I should have reproved him 
severely. I am very sorry for it, Reginald ; I loved little 
Marjorie almost as well as you did, dear boy.” 

Regie put his hand on Mr. Wylder ’s arm, affectionately. 

‘ Do you think we’ll ever find her, sir ? I’m sorry I said 
that about her coming back here.” 

“ The detectives give me very little encouragement,” 
Baid Mr. Wylder, sadly. “ But whatever I hear, you 
shall have. Must you go, Judge Gray ? Bring this boy 
of yours down again, and whenever you come I shall 
always be glad to have you stay with us, and so will 
Louise. Can’t you come and dine to-morrow ? ” 

But J udge Gray said that it would be impossible, as he 
must take the boat next day ; Regie needed the ^est and 
Sjuiet of home after all this excitement. 


REGIE SPEAKS HIS MIND. 


119 


Horace had made his escape out of the room, and when 
Judge Gray and Regie got into their carriage after say- 
ing good-night, Fan chon found Regie’s glove in the hall, 
and ran down to the carriage door with it. 

“ Mam’selle have talked of you so very often,” whis- 
pered the impetuous Frenchwoman. “ She say, always, 
1 My dear Regie ’ — yes, many times. Monsieur, I make 
you my compliments for ze beating to master Horace 
— he one very bad boy ! ” 

Regie could hardly help laughing as he thanked her, 
and he slipped a little money in her hand as they drove 
off. 

“ I suppose it was rather awful,” said Regie to his 
father, after they had returned to the hotel, and he was 
getting ready for bed, feeling quite worn out. “ I sup- 
pose it was rather awful to give Horace Wylder a licking 
in his own house, but if you’d heard him — the way he 
spoke, I mean — you would have boiled over : yes, indeed. 
And they may say what they like, papa ; I believe I shall 
see dear little Madge again some day. I have the queer- 
est feeling about her,” Regie’s boyish blush came up to 
his face, although it was too dark for his father to see it. 
“ I seem to know that I’ll find her, all myself, and find 
out her parentage, too. I promised her I would, when 
I’m a man, and that won’t be so very long after’ I’m 
through college.” 

“ Go to sleep, Rex,” said his father, smiling quietly. 

“ Yes. sir,” and there was a silence for some moments. 

“ Any way,” burst out Regie, afresh, “ we can put 
nlvertisements in our papers, and” — very sleepily, “I’m 
ust as glad as I can be that — I — spoke ny mind to 
Horace ! ” 


150 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

MARJORIE MEETS A GOOD SAMARITAN. 

S EPTEMBER passed, and October, with its cod, eleai 
days had come around before Marjorie was able to 
leave old Moll’s attic. How the child lived was a mir- 
acle ; had it not been for Nancy’s devoted and untiring 
care she would probably have died. And as it was, she 
had much to struggle against. The wound on her head 
was perhaps the least of it ; she had a terrible fever, and 
was either raving in delirium, or senseless and stupefied 
most of the time. Gentleman Roddy had the sense to 
let the fever take its course, only giving her very simple 
remedies, and that was her salvation. But poor Nancy 
had her hands full, as the phrase goes, between old Moll 
and “ her man Jim.” She could generally contrive to keep 
Marjorie quiet, if they were out of the way, but whenever 
the pair had a drunken carouse (which occurred as often 
as the state of their finances would permit) and came 
home quarreling and swearing at each other, Marjorie 
would be roused to a perfect frenzy. 

Old Moll had not dared, as yet, to dispose of the gold 
beads ; if she had, Marjorie would probably have been 
traced by the detectives. And as Moll could not read, 
and never saw a newspaper, her cupidity was not aroused 
by the knowledge of the rewards offered for Marjorie, 
It was commonly supposed by the inmates of the house 
(those of them who cared enough on the subject to make 
nquiries) that the sick child was a niece of Nancy’s, as 
ihe had once told Gentleman Roddy. Nancy had been 


MARJORIE MEETS A GOOD SAMARITAN, 151 

obliged to dispose of Marjorie’s white dress, to obtain a 
little money, all of which she faithfully expended upon 
her patient, but as she first ripped off the embroidered 
bands, to be sold separately, it had not reached the notice 
of the police. 

But her fever had made one great change in Marjorie ; 
she had lost all recollection of the past few years as if 
they had never been. Even her own name, Marjorie, had 
gone from her, and although dimly, as in a dream, she 
seemed to know that Mary (the name which Nancy gave 
her) was not hers, she could not remember what she 
ought to be called. Her memory went back further still, 
and she talked dreamily of 44 mamma,” and how cross the 
old gentleman with white hair had been to her. 

44 You know,” she said one day, whispering to Nancy, — 
44 you know he gave me a push, and I fell down. That ’s 
why my head feels so queer ; when I get well can I go 
back to my own mother ? ” 

Nancy promised, and soothed the child until she fell off 
into a quiet slumber. 

Very cautiously, at different times, Nancy tried to find 
out where Marjorie could have come from. Old Moll, 
besotted as she was, was too cunning to betray herself, and 
told a different story each time that Nancy got her upon 
the subject. And the child herself could give no answer, 
and would become so distressed when questioned, that 
Nancy finally forbore asking her anything about the past. 

But when the cool October days came, another misfor- 
tune befell Marjorie. Nancy fell sick, and the child lost 
her only protecror. To be sure, whenever Gentleman 
Roddy came he would interpose between old Moll and the 
Lhild, but his visits were not frequent enough to be of 
aiuch service in the persecution that Marjorie suffered. 


152 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


The old hag seemed to have a sort of spite against he/ 
to tell the truth, Moll thought it a sad pity that Mar j oris 
had not been allowed to die when she was so ill, and was 
disposed, as she confidentially expressed it to her grand- 
son Jim, 44 to take it out of her, now Nance was like to 
kick the bucket.” And she was as good as her word. 
Many a weary day did Marjorie trudge along beside the 
old hag, laden with an ancient basket, for 44 cold pieces,” 
which Moll collected in her daily rounds. Many were 
the cruel blows that fell on the shrinking child’s shoulders, 
until her patient gray eyes began to have a hunted, fright- 
ened look that would have half broken Regie’s heart to 
see in them. Marjorie used to wonder why she didn’t die 
then ; the days were so long, and the nights were horri- 
ble, spent with Moll and Jim, when half-intoxicated and 
wholly brutal. Nancy lay moaning with acute rheuma- 
tism, unable to move hand or foot, and if Marjorie tried to 
tend the sufferer, or even to give her a cup of water, a 
curse and a blow from one or the other of her tormentors 
was sure to be her reward. 

44 I’ll tell ye what, Mary,” said Nancy, one morning, in 
a furtive whisper, as Moll was busy getting the basket 
ready for another expedition , — 44 if I’m sick this way long, 
begorra, I’ll ax Gentleman Roddy to do something for 
you. An’ if it ’s a good chance you gets, just run away 
from her — the old divil ! O, me darlint, what looks like 
me little Jim, it ’s niver a word av the kind I’d say to ye 
if I was meself, but maybe they’d kill you like they did 
— what was I sayin’ ? — If she is very bad to ye the day, 
just speak till the p’liceman, sure ; maybe he’d take her 
till the station, and a good riddance, ’twould be for you 
*nd me.” 

44 What ’s you doing, ye dirthy spalpeen ! ” cried Moll 


MARJORIE MEETS A GOOD SAMARITAN. 


158 


coining up behind Marjorie as she bent oyer Nancy. 
“ Go long wid ye, and carry that basket straight, d’ ye 
mind ? ” 

The cuff accompanying the remark made Marjorie reel, 
but she closed her lips £s she saw Nancy’s face of pain, 
and went out of the door and down the rickety stairs with 
only a few quiet tears streaming down her little pale face. 

Moll was in better humor after she had begged success- 
fully of two gentlemen passers, and she plunged into a 
grog-shop for a drink as soon as the donors were out of 
sight. The close air of the place made Marjorie feel 
faint, but luckily, Moll did not stay there long. When 
she came out she announced cheerfully, that she was 
going “ up to see the ’ristocrats,” as she hadn’t been up 
town in quite a while. 

“ An’ it ’s tired I am,” growled she, as they came out 
on Broadway near the City Hall Park ; “I belaye I’ll 
just take a car and ride at me ease, sure. I’ve the money 
here, and I’ll be sure to get some more in the big bug 
quarters, — they’d give it just to be shut of me. Mind 
that basket, ye limb ay Satan,” shouted she, as Marjorie 
hit the side of the car in getting in. “Ye must excuse 
me waiting maid, sir, she ’s not so handy as those I’m 
used till.” 

The conductor hustled them in, regardless of Moll’s 
impudence, and Marjorie was glad to rest her weary little 
feet, eyen though she had to stand at first. Moll had of 
course taken the only vacant seat, but a kind looking 
mechanic sitting next to her, after glancing at Marjorie’s 
pale face, rose, and gave the child his seat. 

The color flew into her cheeks at the unexpected kind- 
iess, and her “ O, thank you so much, sir,” in her sweet, 
plaintive voice rang in the man’s ears sometime after he 


154 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


had left the car. He had a little girl of his own at home, 
and the kindly heart under the blue flannel shirt gave a 
throb of pain as he thought how hard it would be to see 
Nelly’s face with such a look of care on it. 

The motion of the car made Moll sleepy, and the vile 
whiskey which she had been drinking was beginning to 
take effect, so her head sank lower and lower until she 
tried to make a pillow for herself on Marjorie’s little 
shoulder. The child bore it for some minutes very pa- 
tiently, and then she moved a trifle. Old Moll raised her 
head, uttered a curse, gave Marjorie a vicious pinch on 
the arm, which almost made her scream aloud, and then 
coolly deposited her head on the same resting place 
again. 

Marjorie bit her lips until the blood came. The sensi- 
tive child shrank painfully from the eyes of the well- 
dressed passengers around her ; the mortification of having 
Moll beside her burned in her heart, hotly. Trying to 
divert herself by looking out at University Place, which 
they were going through, she met the gaze of a young 
lady sitting directly opposite her. Marjorie’s love for 
everything pretty was as strong as ever, and this lady’s 
face was almost beautiful. Such a brilliant, clear com- 
plexion, lovely, dimpled mouth, and soft brown eyes as 
she had ; the eyes, too, meeting Marjorie’s with a look 
of commiseration which made the child’s little mouth 
quiver, and a tear roll down her cheek. The lady was 
richly dressed ; Marjorie saw the gold bracelets and dia- 
mond sleeve-buttons at the slender, white wrists, just 
above her pretty, silver-gray gloves. Unconsciously, while 
looking at her, she moved again, and old Moll, raising 
ner head, and being half stupefied, and furious at being 
disturbed, brought down her fist with all her force oi 
Marjorie’s cheek. 


MARJORIE MEETS A GOOD SAMARITAN. 155 

The child gave a cry, and in half a minute the young 
iady was out of her seat, standing beside her. 

“ Did she hurt you, my poor child ? ” cried she, her 
brown eyes flashing, and looking more beautiful than 
ever in her animated indignation. “ The woman is in- 
toxicated ; come and take my seat.” 

Half a dozen gentlemen sprang up to offer a seat to the 
young lady, and Moll, muttering something, attempted 
to rise also, but she was too drunk to stand, and accord- 
ingly, she tumbled at full length in a heap on the floor of 
the car. 

There immediately arose a commotion. The conductor 
stopped the car, and one of the gentlemen called a police- 
man, and the young lady took Marjorie’s trembling hand 
in hers, and held it firmly. Some of the gentlemen who 
had been standing on the front platform came in to see 
what was the matter, and one of them walked up to the 
pretty young lady. 

“ Why, Miss Virginia,” said he, in a surprised voice, 
raising his hat as he spoke, — “what are you doing here ? 
I didn’t even know that you were in town.” 

“ Then you didn’t get my card, Mr. Randolph,” said 
Bhe, blushing, as she gave him her hand. “ I certainly 
sent it to you : we (papa and I) are at the Fifth Ave- 
nue Hotel.” 

“ Let me take you there,” said he, eagerly. “ It is 
not far to walk.” 

But the young lady’s answer was prevented by the 
lommotion that Moll made as she swore at the police- 
man, who avowed his intention of taking her to the 
station-house. What was to become of the little girl 
whom the old woman had struck ? Virginia turned to 
ber proteg6. 


156 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ My dear, what shall I do for you ? ” she said, kindly. 

“ Take me away — don’t let her catch me,” said 
Marjorie, trying to crouch down behind her new friend. 
“She’ll beat me awfully; Nancy told me I’d better run 
away.” 

“ Indeed she shall not,” said the young lady, all her 
warm indignation returning as she saw the livid mark 
that Moll’s blow had left on the child’s face. “ Is she 
your mother ? ” 

“ O no, ma’am ! I don’t belong to her at all — I’m 
not Irish, you know,” and the old repugnance which she 
had always manifested at the idea was plainly depicted 
on Marjorie’s speaking countenance as she spoke. 

Struck, as Judge Gray had been, with the purity of 
the child’s tone and pronunciation, Virginia paused and 
looked doubtfully at her. Moll was being dragged off 
by the policeman, and the conductor rang the bell impa- 
tiently, for the car to move on. 

“ You shall not go back, you shall come with me,” 
said the young lady, seating herself, and motioning Mar- 
jorie to take the place next to her. Mr. Randolph, 
standing in front of them, looked his amazement. 

“ Are you going to adopt that child ? ” asked he, com- 
ically. 

“ I don’t know,” Miss Virginia said, flushing up again. 
“ I mean to take her to the hotel and see what papa 
says. Here we are, Mr. Randolph ; will you come up to 
our parlor, or will you call this evening ? ” 

The gentleman thanked her, and said he would come 
after dinner, and then he escorted Virginia up the stair- 
case of the hotel, and left her at the door of her room. 

The first thing that the young lady did upon entering 
her parlor was to ring for the chambermaid ; her ilex,* 


MARJORIE MEETS A GOOD SAMARITAN. 


157 


was to take both Marjorie’s hands in hers and say, “Now 
tell me all about it.” 

But poor Marjorie ’s “all ” was not very satisfactory ; 
she could only tell that she had been very ill, how many 
weeks she did not know,, and that when she knew what 
was going on again, her mother was not with her. 

“ I can’t remember,” said Marjorie, with a distressed 
face. “ I know I was on a ship with mamma, and the 
waves were very high, and she was ill. And then I don’t 
recollect after that, much — except the old gentleman 
with white hair, and strange black eyes who spoke crossly 
to my mother, and pushed me away. There was a queer 
bird in the room — O ! ” cried Marjorie, raising her hand, 
as if in pain, to her forehead — “ who told me I must 
try to remember more about that time ? Somebody did 
— who was it ? ” 

Her large eyes were so full of misery and terror at the 
failure of her memory that Virginia hastened to change 
the subject. 

“ Then you don’t know how you came to be with that 
dreadful, drunken old woman ? ” 

“ No ma’am. I don’t seem to have any mind ; I guess 
my sickness made me forget.” 

Marjorie got along more coherently as she related all 
the misery she had suffered with old Moll. She told 
quite connectedly about Nancy, and Gentleman Roddy’s 
kindness, and one speech in particular struck her listener. 

“ I never used to wear only a dress and a chemise,” 
fciid Marjorie, coloring painfully as she touched her dirty 
calico. “ Nancy said she sold my clothes when I was sick 
to get me medicine. Please excuse the way I look.” 
She made her apology with the old, quiet dignity, and 
Virginia said to herself, - - 


158 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ Tlie child is right ; she must have been brought up 
tvith refinement. 1 never saw such pathetic eyes in my 
life.” 

The chambermaid, who had come in during this con- 
versation, and stared inquisitively at the ragged child who 
was holding Miss Clive’s hands, had been dispatched for 
the young lady’s servant, and now the door opened and 
a handsome, elderly mulatto woman came in. She was 
very neatly dressed, and her language betrayed that she 
had been educated. 

“ Why, Miss Ginny ! ” said she, raising her hands in 
surprise as she caught sight of Marjorie. “ What ’s 
you’se been doing now, for sure ? Hasn’t been finding 
one of dose Sunday-school scholars up here in New York, 
eh ? Poor chile ! ” as she bent down and saw Marjorie’s 
quivering lips. “ D’ye feel bad ? Come to your ole 
Maum Phebe.” 

“ That ’s right, Phebe,” said her mistress, as the woman 
took Marjorie gently into her lap. “ I found her with 
the most dreadful old woman — never mind,” hastily, as 
Marjorie’s tears began to fall slowly. “ I’ll tell you the 
story by and by. You might ring and order some lunch 
for her, and then, Phebe, give her a bath. I’m going 
out to try to buy some clothes for her, ready made, and 
when papa comes in I mean to ask him if I can’t take 
her to Philadelphia.” 

“ Hi ! what will your papa say to that ? ” said Phebe, 
rocking Marjorie to and fro. “ He’ll say little missy is an 
‘ extravagant puss,’ eh ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Virginia, laughing, as Phebe, with the 
quick mimicry of her race imitated her master’s voice to 
the life. “ V ery likely, but he always lets me do as j 
like in the end. Be sure to give the child plenty to eat 


MARJORIE MEETS A GOOD SAMARITAN. 159 

*he looks half starved. And, Phebe,” pausing on the 
threshold, 44 get one of my flannel wrappers and put it on 
her when she has her bath,” and, with a kind nod to 
Marjorie, the bright, beautiful face vanished as the door 
closed. 

44 Bress her heart,” said Phebe, warmly ; 44 she ’s good 
as gold, little Miss Ginny is. Now, chile, which will you 
do first, — have the bath, or some lunch ? I reckon a 
little chicken soup and some oysters would taste good, eh, 
for sure ? I’ll jest tell dat chambermaid to send a waiter 
for some.” 

Marjorie thought that Maum Phebe (as she called her- 
self) was a wonderfully kind person, as she sat rocking 
her little charge, and talking cheerfully until the lunch 
she had ordered came. Phebe prepared it for her so 
nicely, and crumbed bread in the chicken soup (although 
she was rather disdainful as to its cooking, and told Mar- 
jorie that down in Philadelphy they put more than the 
chicken bones in soup, — 44 reckon de bones was all dat ar 
soup ever saw ”), and spread her toast for her, and gave 
her a cup of weak tea, adding that 44 strong tea was not 
good for a chile ; Miss Ginny, she never had none of it 
till she was grown up, bress her ! ” 

Marjorie enjoyed her meal exceedingly ; she only felt 
sorry that she could not give some of the chicken broth 
to Nancy, and she told Phebe so. Phebe was quite in- 
terested, and asked many questions about the sick woman 
while she was washing and dressing Marjorie, and she 
groaned with indignation when she saw long black and 
blue lines on the child’s shoulders and arms, the traces of 
old Moll’s cruelty. 

44 1)ey ’s mighty poor white trash,” said Phebe, relaps- 
ing into her negro dialect, as she frequently did when 


160 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


excited or pleased. “ It ’s only de mis’able trash dat beats 
dey li’le children ; ’spectable, decent culled pu&sons dey 
do nothing of de kin’.” 

Marjorie, in one of Miss Virginia’s blue flannel wrap- 
pers, her long, fair hair floating about her shoulders in 
loose curls, a little tint of color in her face, and a gleam 
of pleasure in her large eyes, was a sufficiently pretty 
picture. And so Phebe thought as she put her on the 
sofa, and bade her go to sleep ; she would waken her 
when Miss Ginny came. 

But the parcels began to arrive before Virginia did, 
and Phebe had ejaculated “ Bress de chile ! ” a dozen 
times at least before the bright, glowing face of her mis- 
tress appeared. 

“ Hush, honey ; she ’s sleeping just as quiet as a lamb 
in your room. ’Pears as if she’d never go to sleep. That 
'chile ’s been awful sick, missy ; she starts and cries some- 
times, in a kinder queer way that folks allers have after 
a fever. She ain’t any of your poor trash,” said Phebe, 
contemptuously. “ I’ll tell you why. When she was 
eating her lunch a while ago, she handled her fork jest 
as your dear mother used to make you when you was a 
chile. Eh ? dat chile have been tole what table manners 
is,” and Phebe shook her head emphatically. 

“ I am very much interested in her,” said Virginia, 
glancing through the half open door at the little sleeper, 
“ Open the boxes, Phebe, and see if I got what was nec- 
essary. As the child is not awake yet, you may dress 
me ; take out my gray silk with cherry trimmings, 
please.” 

“ Miss Ginny expects company to-night, eh ? ” said 
Phebe, as she stood gazing with fond eyes at her pretty 
mistress. “ Shall I put the diamond locket out for you 7 
Going to de opera, Miss Ginny ? ” 



THE LITTLE SLEEPEIt. 






MARJORIE MEETS A GOOD SAMARITAN. 161 

“ Perhaps,” said Virginia, glowing a little. “ It ’s only 
Mr. Randolph, Phebe. You remember him, last sum- 
mer ? ” 

“ Hum ! ” said Phebe. smiling. The gay, manly face 
of Miss Ginny’s “New York beau ” had pleased Phebe 
greatly during their stay at Cape May last July. She 
had her own ideas about Mr. Randolph, but she was too 
prudent to hint them to anybody. “ Mr. Randolph is a 
very nice gentleman ; he always says ‘ How-d’ye-do, 
Phebe,’ as polite as can be.” 

“ The child is awake,” said Virginia, hastily, hearing a 
movement in the other room. She found Marjorie sitting 
up on the sofa, looking the picture of bewilderment. 

“ Did you forget where you were ? ” said Virginia, 
gayly kissing her protege’s sweet, child lips. “ I have 
some nice clothes for you in the other room ; will you let 
Phebe put them on ? ” 

“ O, yes ! ” cried Marjorie, gratefully. “ I don’t know 
what I can do for you, ma’am, you’re so kind ! ” 

“ You needn’t say 4 ma’am ’ to me,” laughed Virginia. 
“ You can call me Miss Virginia, — dear me ! I don’t 
know your name yet.” A cloud passed over Marjorie’s 
face. 

44 Nancy called me Mary,” said she, soberly, “ but I 
know that isn’t my name. I had a different name once ; 
a longer name, — but I can’t remember.” 

Again the pitiful, frightened look which Virginia had 
seen before. “ If I keep you with me, I sha’n’t call you 
Mary,” said she. “Do you object to my giving you an- 
other name ? ” 

“ O, no,” said Marjorie. “ Anything you choose 
would be pretty, 1 know.” 

m]’U tell you what, missy v said Phebe, nodding hei 
11 


162 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


head as she dressed Marjorie in the pretty blue delaine 
which her mistress had brought home, “ it ’s my ’pinion 
that dis chile has been kidnapped.” 

“ Nonsense, Phebe,” said Virginia. “ Kidnappers are 
your great bugbears, but I don’t believe they are met 
with in New York. My dear, you look very neat and 
smart ; Phebe is the perfection of dressing maids. Just 
fasten this locket for me, — there ’s papa’s key in the 
door. Phebe, keep the child here till I send for her,” and 
Virginia went into the parlor and closed the door be- 
tween the rooms. 

Marjorie could hear the murmur of voices, and sat 
wondering what was going to happen next. She did not 
realize that her own fate was hanging in the balance, and 
when, after an absence of half an hour, Virginia’s clear 
voice called “ Phebe ! ” she followed the woman with her 
usual docility. 

Mr. Clive was sitting in an easy chair, and Virginia, 
looking lovely in her gray dress, was upon a low stool at 
his feet, her arms clasped around his knee. He was a 
fine, stately looking man of perhaps fifty, with keen gray 
eyes, whose glance could be stern and penetrating enough. 
He was smiling now, however, at some speech of his 
petted daughter, and the first look that he gave Marjorie 
was one of surprise. 

“ Is that the child ? ” said he. Marjorie came shyly 
toward him, and encouraged by a smile from Virginia, 
put up her cheek to be kissed. The unconscious grace 
and innocent maimer were powerful arguments in her 
favor, and Mr. Clive bent down and kissed the child witlt 
a Emile. 

“ How would you like to go to Philadelphia ? ” said 
be, keeping hold of the small hand. 


MARJORIE MEETS A GOOD SAMARITAN. 


163 


“ With Miss Virginia ? ” asked Marjorie. “ I ’d go 
anywhere with her, sir. She spoke so kindly this morn- 
ing — she wanted to give me her own seat in the car 
when Moll struck mej’ and Marjorie’s head went down 
as she choked over the sob which came with the last 
word. 

“ Very right,” said Mr. Clive, nodding, and giving one 
of his keen glances at the truthful little face before him. 
He seemed to be satisfied with what he saw there, for he 
said presently, “ What do you think about it, Phebe ? 
It will be another care for you.” 

“ Maum Phebe can work pretty well yet,” said she, 
showing all her white teeth. “ De chile is a good chile, 
I’se warrant, and it never would do to leave her with de 
awful ole woman again.” 

Mr. Clive asked Marjorie several questions about old 
Moll, and where she lived. All that Marjorie could tell 
him was that the name of the street was Randall’s Alley ; 
she had no idea of the locality. And she turned so pale 
at the bare idea of going back there, even to point out 
the house, that Mr. Clive relinquished his half-formed 
plan of taking the child there in a carriage, to ascertain 
the truth of her statements. As Phebe had said, Mr. 
Clive seldom denied any wish of Virginia’s, and he was 
fain to confess to himself, as he leaned back in his chair 
and listened to the conversation going on between his 
daughter and Marjorie, that there was a curious charm 
about the child, and that Virginia might as well be in- 
dulged this time. 

“ What do you mean to call her ? ” said he, abruptly. 

Virginia put her hand upon his knee with a caressing 
motion. “ I don’t know,” said she, laughing ; “ she 
Joes’nt want to be called Mary ” — 


164 


Marjorie’s quest. 


“ It is not my name,” interrupted Marjorie, eagerly. 

“ So you said ; what shall we christen her, Papa ? 
Not too fanciful a name — dear me ! Let me look at 
you, child.” Virginia pursed up her pretty brow in an 
attempt to frown. 

“ I have it !” cried she, clapping her hands. “ With 
your yellow hair and wide-opened, limpid eyes, you put 
me in mind of a field-daisy — what do you say to that, 
papa ? Doesn’t she look like one ? I ’ll call you 
‘ Daisy.’ ” 

Marjorie drew a long, satisfied sigh. “ I like that,” 
said she. “ It ’s real pretty ; thank you, ma’am. Is that 
all my name ? It seems to me,” the terror coming up in 
her face again, — “it seems to me as if somebody asked 
me once if I had only one name. It was a girl with big 
eyes ; there was snow on the ground, and lots of children ; 
O ! why can’t I remember anything ? ” 

Virginia exchanged a glance with her father. 

“ That won’t do,” said he, in an undertone. “ There 
has been some great shock to the brain. Daisy,” drawing 
her toward him, “ you must not even try to remember 
things. Virginia says you tell her that you were very ill ; 
people sometimes forget the past for a long while and 
then, suddenly they wake up, and it is all clear again. 
That may be the case with you ; your brain is resting, 
just as your body does when you are asleep, and you 
must not try to wake it up in a hurry. You want 
another name, eh ? How would it do to take a piece oi 
mine ? Virginia, you might call her Daisy Russell.” 

“ Is that your name, sir?” asked Marjorie. 

“ Yes, Selden Russell Clive, Daisy.” 

“ Then Miss Virginia is Miss Clive ? ” 

“ Bress de chile ! of course she be,” burst in Phebe 


MARJORIE MEETS A GOOD SAMARITAN. 


165 


4 There ’s de dinner gong, missy ; I ’ll take care ol Miss 
Daisy while you’re gone.” 

“ It ’s very odd,” said Mr. Clive, as they went down 
the hall toward the dining-room ; “ that child looks like 
some one — puts me in mind of some one that I know. 
I think it ’s more in expression than feature ; a curious 
lighting up of the eyes when she smiles. And, for the 
life of me, I can’t tell who it is she resembles. Are you 
sure you will not tire of your Quixotic scheme, Virginia ? 
I will consent to it upon one condition ; if we assume care 
of the child, I will not have her thrown out helplessly 
upon the world. She must be taught how to take care 
of herself.” 

“ That is just what I intend,” said Virginia, quietly 
and being by this time at the table d'hote , they began 
to talk of other matters. 

Mr. Randolph came that evening, as he had promised, 
and Mr. Clive’s greeting to the young man was even 
more cordial than Virginia’s. One of the first questions 
that the young gentleman asked was about the little girl 
whom Virginia had rescued that morning; and when 
Marjorie came out into the parlor on an errand for 
Phebe, Mr. Randolph could hardly believe that it was 
the same child. Virginia enjoyed his surprise, and 
Mr. Clive asked if he could tell him how to find out 
where Randall’s Alley was. 

“ I think that our policeman friend of this morning 
might afford us some information,” said he, laughing. 
“ J udging by that wretched woman’s appearance it must 
oe one of the worst dens in the city. I happen to re- 
member the man’s number ; if you will allow me, Mr. 
Clive, I will find him in the morning and make inquiries 
*bout the woman, and Randall’s Alley. Can I offer my 
ter vices on the expedition ? ” 


166 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


Mr. Clive thanked him, and accepted the offer, politely. 
Virginia gave him a grateful look, for which Mr. Ran- 
dolph thought he would be willing to take several jour- 
neys to Randall’s Alley and back. 

Marjorie’s night’s rest and the happy awaking early in 
the morning to the recollection that she was with kind 
friends and had no old Moll to beat her and force her to 
carry a heavy basket, brightened her face to its old 
serene expression, and she looked more like the child who 
played with Regie than she had ever done since she left 
Judge Gray’s. Virginia began to be intensely interested 
in her ; it seemed to be Marjorie’s lot to fall in with 
people to whom her sweet, plaintive face was an appeal 
for help. Mr. Clive told Virginia to let the child break- 
fast with them in their parlor, and his keen eyes noticed, 
p,s Phebe had done, the entire ease and gentle propriety 
of Marjorie’s manner while at the table. He was careful 
not to tell her of his proposed visit to Randall’s Alley, 
and when Mr. Randolph came in, about ten o’clock, he 
cautioned him, aside, to say nothing of their expedition. 

“It is such an out-of-the-way place, Mr. Clive,” said 
Mr. Randolph, as they walked out on the pavement in 
front of the hotel. “ Over by the East River, and (as I 
supposed) one of the very lowest quarters. I, therefore, 
brought down my carriage ; it ’s at the Twenty-third 
Street entrance.” 

The gentlemen got into it, and Mr. Randolph gave his 
coachman directions how to get there. 

“ Old Moll (as little Daisy calls her) was discharged 
from the police station early this morning. The police- 
men say that she is an old offender, and has been fre- 
quently confined in the Tombs for disorderly conduct. 
My friend, No. 32, who carried her off yesterday, says lie 


MARJORIE MEETS A GOOD SAMARITAN. 


16 ? 


loubts very much whether we find her, as women of her 
description spend their time chiefly in the streets, begging, 
jr in low grog shops in a state of beastly intoxication.” 

After some trouble, Randall's Alley and the tenement 
where Moll lived was found ; a ragged urchin from the 
comer grocery offered to show them 4 4 where Mother 
Moll hung out,” and stumbled up the dark stair in front 
of them. Mr. Clive buttoned his coat carefully over his 
gold watch and chain before venturing up, and whispered 
to Mr. Randolph that he felt very much as if he was 
plunging blindly into a den of thieves. 

44 There ’s the room,” said the ragged boy, giving a 
thump on the door. 44 Likely you’ll find old Moll on the 
door — it ’s the most comf ortablist place fur she, when 
she can’t stand, yer see.” 

44 Stop grinning,” said Mr. Randolph, giving him a 
quarter. 

44 Thank ye, sir,” said the boy, grinning more than 
ever at the munificent gift, which far exceeded his ex- 
pectations. 44 Guess I’ll open the door ; nobody to home.” 

44 What ’s wanting?” said a faint voice, as they paused 
on the threshold. Mr. Clive’s eyes, as they gradually 
became accustomed to the dim light, saw a squalid figure 
upon a straw bed in a corner of the room, and a pair of 
Bad, sunken eyes regarding the intruders with a frown. 

44 Does a woman five here whose name is Moll ? ” said 
Mr. Clive, seeing that his companion left matters to him, 
now that they had reached their destination. 

44 Who ’s wanting her ? ” said Nancy, groaning as she 
tried to raise herself on her elbow. 44 She hain’t been 
nere sin^e yesterday morning, — like as not she ’s locked 
ap.” 

44 Are yoi: Nancy ? ” asked Mr. Clive, drawing a little 


168 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


uearex, but not too close, as he had a nervous horror of 
catching a fever or some infectious disease. Indeed, it 
was a strong proof of his interest in the little waif his 
daughter had found that he should have offered to come 
into such a place to make inquiries about her. 

“ What do you know about Nancy ? ” said she, with 
some alarm in her tone. “ I’ve been doing nothing sure 
flat on my back here for four weeks with rheumatiz.” 

“ I only want to ask you about a little girl ” — Nancy 
interrupted him with a cry. 

“ There ain’t no harm come to my little Mary ? ” 

“ Not at all,” said Mr. Clive. “ My daughter found a 
little girl with an old woman in a Broadway car yester- 
day, and as she seemed to treat the child cruelly, she 
ventured to interfere.” 

“ The poor little darlint ! ” cried Nancy, with a string 
of curses for Moll. “ An’ is she quite safe, now ? ” 

Mr. Clive told the story in as few words as possible, 
and then asked the woman if the child was any relation 
of hers. Nancy glanced uneasily at the faces beside her. 

“ Send the boy away,” said she, suddenly. “ It ’s little 
I knows, but I’ll tell ye that, an’ welcome.” 

“It was one hot night about two months back (an’ 
more, may be ; I am not quite rightly as to dates) 
when Moll came home wid the child. It ’s reeling 
drunk she was ; and I thought the young one was kilt 
entirely, for she had a big cut the size of me finger on 
her head, an’ I had to cut off her hair there — ye may 
find the scar now. And it’s very ill and like to die 
Mary was. I did me best, sir ; I tried to keep her from 
u : d Moll, and I got medicine fur her, and nursed her till 
she got able to go around again. But where she came 
from, or who she is, I know no more than ye does. An 


MARJORIE MEETS A GOOD SAMARITAN. 


169 


f ye’ll only kape her, an’ be kind to her it ’s all I ask ; as 
purty and swate a child as iver lived, with eyes like ray 
Jim’s.” 

Evidently this was all Nancy knew, for although she 
repeated the story several times, the main facts never 
varied. She gave, as her opinion, that Moll knew no 
more than she, for, as she said, the child had no rich 
clothes or jewelry upon her person, which would have 
been the only temptation to Moll to steal her. Nancy 
did not know of the gold beads, or she might have 
changed her opinion. Nancy said that Moll was some- 
times absent days at a time, and she gave so little hope 
of learning anything new from her that Mr. Clive relin- 
quished the idea. He gave Nancy a handsome sum of 
money, however, and told her that the child had spoken 
gratefully and kindly of her care, and was going away, 
when a sudden thought made him turn back. 

“ If you need assistance, or if you hear, at any time, 
any story from Moll about the child, I will give you di- 
rections to a place down town where you can go with the 
information. Can you read ? ” 

“ A little,” stammered Nancy, shamefacedly. “ I can 
read printing, sure.” 

Mr. Clive put back the card upon which he had in- 
tended writing, and gave her the business card of Clive 
Bros, instead. Then he bade Nancy good-by, kindly ; 
Mr. Randolph stayed behind to add his gift to her little 
store, and Nancy’s loud spoken blessings followed them 
down-stairs. 

“ It is a most mysterious affair,” said Mr, Clive, as 
\hey picked their way back to the side street where the 
carriage was standing. “ I am almost as much interested 
is Virginia herself. I wonder if advertising would do 


170 


MARJORIE S QUEST. 


any good ? As we have no date to go by — Lord bless 
my soul ! stop him, stop bim ! ” 

A man, a very singular looking man too, with bright 
black eyes, and long white hair hanging down on hi3 
shoulders, had just passed the two gentlemen, and as Mr. 
Clive uttered this exclamation in an excited voice, he 
darted with great rapidity between the narrow passage 
way of two houses, and disappeared before Mr. Clive 
could follow him. 

44 My dear sir ! ” exclaimed Mr. Randolph, in amaze- 
ment, 44 did that extraordinary individual rob you ? Shall 
I go for a policeman — though I doubt if I can find one 
in this locality.” 

Mr. Clive had by this time turned very pale. 44 No 
matter,” said he, faintly, taking Mr. Randolph’s offered 
arm as a support. 4 4 It looked like the ghost of a scoun- 
drel whom I thought was dead and buried long ago. 
Strangely enough, when I was in New York last August, 
a distinguished Judge of your State asked me for infor- 
mation of that very fellow. I must let him know that 
the man is alive. He,” Mr. Clive hesitated as he got 
into the carriage, — 44 he (if that is the man I suppose) 
was concerned in a very unhappy matter in relation to 
my youngest brother. May I ask you to say nothing of 
this to my daughter ? She was very fond of her uncle, 
though quite young at the time she saw him last, and I 
do not wish to agitate that matter again just at pres- 
ent.” 

Mr. Randolph of course assured Mr. Clive that he 
would not mention the subject to Virginia, and in a short 
time the elder gentleman regained his composure, and the 
conversation turned upon other topics, as they drov« 
down to Wall Street. 


WHAT CAME OF MISS CLIVE’S WHIM. 


171 


CHAPTER XIV. 

WHAT CAME OF MISS CLIYE f S WHIM. 

M jl/T ISS VIRGINIA,” said Marjorie, laying down hei 
book with a sober face, a little sigh treading 
upon her last words, 44 do you suppose I’ll ever find my 
father ? ” 

They were sitting in Virginia’s room, which was as 
bright and cheerful as it was possible for a room to be ; 
a brisk wood fire crackled away on the hearth, and Mar- 
jorie sat directly in front of it on a low stool, her book on 
her lap. Virginia had been quietly watching her for 
several moments, and the shade that had slowly stolen 
over her face was explained by her question. 

44 My dear child ! Are you puzzling your poor little 
brain over the old problem ? Don’t you remember that 
papa told you, you must not even try to think about the 
past ? And what made you think of your father just 
now ? ” 

44 I don’t seem to remember him at all,” said Marjorie. 
4 But I’ve either talked about finding him to somebody, 
or else I dreamed it.” 

44 Try to believe it a dream,” said Virginia, smiling. 
Much as she was interested in Marjorie’s recollections it 
gave her a nervous feeling to see the child’s painful en- 
deavor to determine wnich was reality and which imag- 
ination in the few finks that her memory could gather 
up, so she changed the subject skillfully by opening a 
carved cabinet which stood af one side of the room, and 
asking Marjorie whether she did not want to look at its 


172 


maejorie’s quest. 


contents. Phebe had given glowing descriptions of the 
beauty of 44 Miss Ginny’s ” jewels therein contained, and 
Marjorie came eagerly to Virginia’s side to examine the 
cases and boxes which filled the drawers. 

44 A great many of these were my mother’s,” said Vir- 
ginia, opening a case which held a necklace of large, 
pure pearls. 44 She wore these the night she was mar- 
ried, Daisy. I have a picture of her with that very neck- 
lace around her throat. I’ll show it to you, presently. 
These funny, old-fashioned gold beads, and pink topaz 
bracelets belonged to my grandmother (papa’s mother I 
mean) : aren’t they pretty ? ” and she slipped one around 
her white wrist, where it sparkled very becomingly. 

44 O, Miss Virginia!” cried Marjorie, in delight, as 
she hung over a costly and beautiful cross of diamonds 
and rubies, with ear-rings of the same gems. 44 1 never 
saw anything so lovely — never ! It looks like a cross 
of tears, with drops of blood at the heart.” 

44 You fanciful Daisy-blossom ! You make me feel un- 
comfortable. Where do you get your odd ideas, I won- 
der ? And how do you like this ? ” 

This, was a tiny dove, formed of small diamonds, with 
a little gold ring in its beak, from which hung a large 
sapphire, the whole being intended as a pendant for the 
neck. The design was beautiful, and Marjorie gazed at 
it in speechless admiration. 

44 It ’s just like the blue waters of the bay, Miss Vir- 
ginia, as they looked yesterday when we were driving. 
Did Mr. Clive give it to you ? ” 

44 No, Daisy ; that belonged to my mother. Somebody 
whom I loved very mu Tl gave it to her. Dear Unci* 
George ! ” cried Virginia, warmly. 44 How I wish I could 
see you again.” 


WHAT CAME OF MISS CLIVE’S WHIM. 


173 


“ Is he dead ? ” asked Marjorie, timidly. 

“ No, Daisy, but he ’s very far away, hundreds of 
miles, — in China, and I don’t know when he will come 
home. Here, in that under drawer, are some curiously 
carved fans which he sent to me when I was a little girl. 
He used to live here once, long ago ; my mother was 
very fond of him.” 

Marjorie thought that the ivory fans with the queer 
houses and birds and junks carved on them, were the 
oddest things she could possibly imagine. Virginia ex- 
plained to her what they were, and then she opened an- 
other division of her cabinet to look for the miniature of 
her mother which she had promised to show her, and put 
a case into Marjorie’s hand. 

“ This isn’t it,” said Marjorie, as she opened the clasp. 
u O ! what a handsome man ; he looks a little — a very 
little, like Mr. Clive. It can’t be he ; is it ? ” 

“ Dear me, I gave you the wrong picture,” said Vir- 
ginia, looking a little annoyed. “ Daisy, I shall have to 
ask you not to speak of having seen that befoie papa. 
It ’s a miniature of the uncle I was just talking about — 
papa’s youngest brother.” 

Marjorie seemed to like the picture, for she gazed at it 
for some moments in silence. Virginia drew her close to 
her side and looked over her shoulder at it. 

“ Poor Uncle George ! ” she sighed, softly. 

“ Did he do anything naughty ? ” asked Marjorie, lift- 
ing her clear gray eyes to Virginia’s face. 

“Well” — Virginia hesitated. “It’s a long story, 
,lear. He is my grandfather’s third son ; papa is the eld- 
est; Uncle Percy, who lives in New York, comes next; 
pna then Uncle George. He, Uncle George, was so gay 
xna merry, and such a tall, handsome fellow. He used 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


*4 

to ride me on his shoulder when I was a little girl ; 1 
haven’t seen him for eleven years, — not since I was ten 
years old, — but I love him just as well as ever.” 

“ Why won’t he come home ? ” asked Marjorie, as Vir- 
ginia paused. 

“ Because my grandfather had a terrible quarrel with 
him, Daisy. The very last time I saw Uncle George was 
just before he sailed for Europe, where grandfather was 
sending him on business for the firm. He displeased his 
father dreadfully by marrying without his consent. I 
don’t know who the lady was — none of us know, unless, 
perhaps, papa. And O ! Daisy, grandpa is a hard old 
man, for he vowed that he would never see poor Uncle 
George again, after this unhappy marriage. Uncle George 
came back to this country, and was very ill indeed in New 
York, at my uncle Percy’s ; I remember that no one dared 
to let grandpa know he was there. Papa went on to see 
hiin,^ and tried to get grandpa to listen to reason, but he 
was very angry with papa for his interference. When 
Uncle George got well he went away to China, and has 
been there ever since. I don’t know very much about 
that time ; papa does not like to have me ask too many 
questions ; but I know he hears from Uncle George every 
Little while. I want him at home,” cried Virginia, forget- 
ting to whom she was talking, the tears springing into 
her bright brown eyes. “ I mean to ask papa if I can’t 
write to him.” 

“ It ’s too bad, Miss Virginia,” said Marjorie, with 
quick sympathy. “ The picture has such a kind look, 
ft makes me think ” — 

“ Stop thinking ! ” said Virginia, suddenly, stopping 
*er lips, with a playful hand. “ I won’t have it ; mind, 
Daisy. What a long story I’ve been telling you. 1 


WHAT CAME OF MISS CLIVE’S WHIM. 


175 


never look at Uncle George’s picture ; it makes me feel 
bo badly to think of the strange, mysterious cloud over 
him. Here is the picture I meant to show you ; the cases 
are just ajike.” 

“ How very much like you,” cried Marjorie. “ It looks 
as if it were taken for you. What a pretty dress — and 
there are the pearls, just as you said. Miss Virginia,” 
with a change of voice, “ how old were you when your 
mother died ? ” 

“ I was just fifteen, Daisy ; just wanting my mother 
most. My poor child,” and Marjorie was drawn close to 
Virginia’s heart, — “ that morning when I saw you first, 
I knew you were an orphan from the hungry, motherless 
look of your eyes, and I made up my mind that if I could 
put a little joy in your life you should have it.” 

Marjorie clung to her lovely friend with gratitude and 
admiring affection too strong for utterance, as she kissed 
the soft lips many times. 

“ I know just how lonely you feel, my little Daisy, 
though part of your life has been hard and cruel, and 
mine has been bright and full of sunshine. We want our 
mothers, don’t we, dear ? Perhaps they are together up 
in the blue skies, and are glad because I found you. I am 
not very much older than you, but I’ve always depended 
bo much on myself that it makes me seem older than I 
im, and you must learn to depend on me, and tell me if 
anything troubles you.” 

Marjorie promised, and the loving words were written 
n her heart in letters as bright as the tears that hung on 
Her long lashes. 

* Bress the chile ! ” said Phebe, putting her head in- 
side the door. “ If you’se going out dis afternoon better 
do getting ready. John ’s at de uoor, and those bosses is 


176 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


prancing because dey don’t like to be wailing. Shall I 
put on li’le Missy Daisy’s hat ? ” 

Phebe, of her own accord, had adopted the respectful 
prefix of “ Miss ” before Marjorie’s name, and when Vir 
ginia asked her why she did so, answered, “ Laws, Miss 
Ginny, dat chile is a born lady for sure ; I can’t call her 
nuffin else, and I reckon she’s been spoken to dat way, 
’fore now. You see some day, Phebe tells de trufe.” 

Marjorie had been in Philadelphia nearly two months, 
and Virginia had thought much and deeply of what plan 
she should pursue with the child. She laid out the day 
very systematically for her little protege, and had regu- 
lar hours for study, sending her to walk with Phebe the 
days that she did not take her in the carriage. Virginia’s 
young friends laughed and shrugged their shoulders at 
what they called her last whim; and one lady, an old 
'friend of the family, considered it to be her duty to speak 
to x Mr. Clive about the child who, as the story went, had 
been picked up in the street in New York. 

But Mr. Clive was courteous and imperturbable as ever, 
and the officious lady was heard to declare, in a much 
vexed voice, that “ he was every bit as bad as that spoiled 
daughter of his — perhaps rather more so, as there ’s no 
fool equal to an old fool ! ” 

For her friends’ comments Virginia cared very little ; 
all she desired was to conscientiously fulfill her duty 
toward the child in whom she felt such warm interest. 
She had a plan only waiting for her father’s approval to 
be carried out, and the evening of the day when she told 
Marjorie her uncle’s story she had an opportunity of 
speaking to him about it which she was not slow to 
improve. 

They dined alone that night, and after Marjorie had 


WHAT CAME OF MISS CLIVE’S WHIM. 


177 


listened to Virginia’s singing for half an hour, Phebe 
came for her, and with a soft good-night kiss from Vir- 
ginia, and a pleasant nod from Mr. Clive she went up- 
stairs, to bed. 

Virginia waited until her father had finished his even- 
ing paper, and then, having lit another cigar for him, she 
took her favorite seat on a low stool beside him. 

“ I saw Mrs. Moulton to-day, papa,” began she. “ It 
looked so pleasant there. I went into the school-room, 
and I declare, I could almost imagine myself a scholar 
again.” 

“ You don’t want to go back to Madame Dubarry’s? ” 
said Mr. Clive, with a look of comical alarm. “ That 
Frenchwoman and her bills were a perfect swindle.” 

“ Poor Madame,” said Virginia, smiling. “ You never 
forgave her for that fib she told about the German lessons. 
No, don’t be alarmed, papa ; I have no desire to return 
to that school. But you know you always liked dear Mrs. 
Moulton.” 

“She is a fine woman, a very fine woman,” said Mr. 
Clive, quite warmly, for him. u How is she getting 
along with her school ? ” 

“ Only pretty well, I fancy. I thought I should rec- 
ommend Mrs. Peyton to send her little girls there ; it 
would be a great help to get a few more scholars. Papa,” 
with a pretty little glance of entreaty, “I have been 
thinking that I would like to send Daisy there, if you 
think best.” 

“ Ha ! ” said Mr. Clive, with a pinch of her cheek as 
»t grew rosy under his keen glance. “ That was what 
was coming, eh? I knew something must be wanting 
vhen you got into your coaxing seat : what did Mrs. 
Moulton think of your fine scheme, pray ? ” 

12 


178 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ She w.is very much pleased with Daisy, and I had a 
long conyersation with her alone. I think she would be 
an excellent person to take charge of her. You see, papa,’ 
very humbly, “ I am young, and I am so afraid I might 
make mistakes. I might indulge Daisy too much, or, on 
the other hand, I might not be firm enough. And I’m hot, 
and quick too, and perhaps if I reproved her too severely 
I should do more harm than good.” 

Mr. Clive looked at the face that was so fair in its self- 
depreciation, and thought that there would not be much 
danger of its owner’s doing anything very far from right, 
but he did not say so. 

“ And what if I say I think it too expensive a plan ? ” 
said he. “ To educate Daisy thoroughly and fit her for 
being a governess, will cost a pretty little sum. It will 
be a six years’ piece of work.” 

“ I did not think you would refuse,” said Virginia, a 
little startled. 

“ And if I do ? ” 

“ Then,” said she, very quietly, but with a certain 
dignity that, though perfectly respectful, was very de- 
termined, “ I should be obliged to ask you for some of 
my money — mamma’s money I mean — to do it. I 
have assumed the responsibility of Daisy’s future, and 
it would hardly be just in me not to do all in my power 
for her.” 

Mr. Clive’s glance at the downcast face was full of 
oroud, tender satisfaction. 

“ Right,” said he, heartily. “ There spoke the Clive 
will.” 

“ O, papa ! Have I said anything I ought not ? ” 

“ No, my dear little daughter,” and to Virginia’s sur 
prise, her father’s usually firm voice was a little unsteady 


WHAT CAME OF MISS CLIVE S WHIM. US 

‘ You are very judicious in all you say, and you have 
evidently thought well over your plans for Daisy. I 
have no objection to them, and I will see that the bills 
are paid. r What an independent young woman I have 
for a daughter ! W e have suddenly remembered our 
one-and-twenty years, eh ? ” 

“ O, thank you, papa — once, for Daisy, and many, 
many times for myself,” cried Virginia, throwing both 
arms around his neck. “ It wasn’t the twenty one years 
at all, sir. I thought you were in earnest ; I ought to 
have known you wete only teasing me.” 

“ Papa,” said she, after a few moments, during which 
she had been trying to gain courage. “ I want to ask 
another favor of you. Don’t be angry, please ; won’t 
you tell me something about Uncle George ? ” 

Mr. Clive started. “ What has set you thinking of 
him ? ” asked he. 

“ I was looking over mamma’s cabinet this morning, 
and I came across his picture. Have you heard from 
him lately? ” 

“ Yes,” said her father, with a quick glance at her. 
M He is thinking of coming home.” 

“ Papa ! you don’t mean it ? ” 

“ Yes. We never have talked about the matter much, 
Virginia, because it was such a sad piece of business, but 
I am ready to answer you any questions you choose to 
ask, now. If he comes home you might hear the com- 
ments of others, outsiders, and I should not like to have 
you appear ignorant. Percy and I both wrote to George 
and advised his coming back ; your grandfather failed a 
good deal last winter, and we think that perhaps he may, 
ill the Ust, relent, and ask tor George, — in which case, 
four uncle should be here. ' 


L80 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


44 I am very glad,” said Virginia in a low voice, full of 
deep feeling. “ Will he bring his wife with him ? ” 

“ My dear child ! But I forgot — you do not know the 
mystery which hangs over that unhappy lady. ' George, 
after receiving a very harsh letter from your grandfather, 
came to this country, leaving her in England. Imme- 
diately after his arrival here he was taken violently 
ill” — 

46 1 remember that — you went to New York to see 
him,” said Virginia. 

“Yes. His wife not hearing from him (or from some 
other cause which we know nothing of), sailed for this 
country, with her child, and from that time has never 
been heard of.” 

44 How shocking ! ” cried Virginia. 

“You would have said so if you could have seen the 
distress he displayed when, upon writing to her, after be 
recovered, he learned from the people with whom she 
boarded that she had sailed for this country. I say, 
sailed ; he was never able to ascertain definitely that she 
arrived here. She must have taken passage under an 
assumed name, for the most vigilant search could discover 
nothing. It nearly threw your uncle into another fever 
though, I must say, hard as it sounds, that perhaps the 
poor lady’s disappearance was the best thing for George, 
as, although your grandfather may forgive him, he would 
never accept her as a daughter.” 

“Was she so very dreadful ? ” 

44 1 don’t know, my dear,” smiling at Virginia’s expres- 
sion. “ The subject was a very painful one, and I asked 
xeorge as few questions about it as possible. Your 
mcle Percy knew more about it than I did ; George told 
him more of the particulars. I only know that she was 


WHAT CAME OF MISS CLIVE S WHIM. 181 

a Frenchwoman, and called very handsome. George was 
bo young, only twenty-four, and he was open to tempta- 
tion in the form of a handsome intriguing woman. A 
confounded, scheming nation,” added Mr. Clive, who 
evidently shared his father’s prejudice. “ It ’s just as 
well that the poor lady has disappeared, hut I feel very 
sorry about the child.” 

“ Was it a boy or a girl ? ” asked Virginia. 

“ I don’t remember, but it would have been a comfort 
to poor George out in China. I must tell you that he 
has made a strong position for himself there. He is a 
partner in the concern where we got him a clerkship, and 
must be very wealthy. China is a great field, if one can 
only make up his mind to be an exile.” 

“ Thank you very much for telling me all the story,” 
said Virginia, rising, as she saw that her father had 
finished his cigar. “ Are you going out, papa ? Then, 
good-night ; I am tired with my long drive to-day, and 
shall go to bed early.” 

The next day Virginia told Marjorie what her pro- 
posed plan of sending her to school was. The child was 
delighted; she seemed to have suddenly acquired an 
ardent thirst for learning, and the prospect of being with 
the pleasant-looking, sweet-voiced lady whom she had 
seen the day before was' very charming. She was con- 
quering her shyness now, in a measure, and liked the 
idea of being at school with other little girls of her own 
age. 

Virginia concluded that it would be best to enter the 
child regularly as a boarder, only coming home once a 
month, as the other scholars did, resolving that the 
monthly holidays should be holidays indeed, with all 
the brightness that she could put into them. Marjorie en- 


*82 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


tered with great interest into all the preparations which 
Virginia saw fit to make for her, and Mr. Clive told 
his daughter to see that she had all her wants supplied 
in a liberal manner. 

The first week of the New Year saw Marjorie estab- 
lished at Mrs. Moulton’s school, under charge of one 
whom Virginia felt was in every way calculated to make 
the child happy. And there, in her own little room, 
sitting contentedly by the window with a pile of study- 
books before her, we will say good-by to Marjorie’s 
troubled childhood, and take a story-teller’s privilege of a 
leap into the future which now lies like an unwritten 
page before the calm gray eyes, and the simple faitb of 
oar little heroine. 


SIX YEARS AFTER. — PUCK AND POSY. 


188 


r 


CHAPTER XV. 

SIX YEARS AFTER. — PUCK AND POSY. 

4 ril AIN’T any use of talkin’ ! ” said Puck, gazing dis- 
consolately out of the window, both chubby fists 
rammed into his pockets with the desperation of despair. 

“ ’ Tain’t any use of talkin’ ! ” Whenever I pwopose to 
go to the fwog pond it always wains.” 

“ Jonathan Edwards Frost ! ” exclaimed Posy, drop- 
ping her doll in scandalized amazement. 44 Ain’t you 
ashamed to be wishing for fine weather, and the earth 
going at a loss for rain ? ” 

44 No, I ain’t,” said Puck doggedly. 44 It hasn’t wained 
for two weeks, and it might have waited for one day, I 
should think. And I wanted a gween fwog dweffully • 
wish it never would wain again ! ” 

44 You’re a naughty, selfish boy,” said Posy, energet- - 
ically, with the funny little bob of her head with which 
she was wont to emphasize her remarks. 44 Don’t I tell 
you that the earth ’s going at a loss for rain ? Silvy said 
so last night to Aunt Debby, and I heard her. God 
won’t love you one bit if you scold Him that way.” 

44 How do you know ? ” demanded Puck, promptly. 

44 1 asked Aunt Debby yesterday if you mightn’t come 
along, and she said if I’d be very good, she’d see. And,” 
in an insinuating voice, 44 1 was goin’ to catch a fwog for 
you, Posy ; a gween one, with gweat big eyes.” 

44 Were you ? ” said Posy, eagerly, forgetting her con- 
scientious scruples with amiable celerity at this attractive 
j>ffer. 44 0 ! p’r’aps it will clear up by and by, and if it 


134 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


don’t, you just pray for fine weather to-morrow, and I’ll 
pray too, hard. You’re a good boy, me dear, to think of 
your little sister,” and Posy gave the sturdy shoulder 
nearest her a most motherly pat. 

“ Well,” said Puck, turning away from the window, 
and making up his mind that there was not a solitary 
patch of blue sky to be seen above the trees, “ let ’s go 
down-stairs and see Chloe in the kitchen ; I’m tired to 
deff of stayin’ in the nursewy.” 

The plan met with Posy’s approbation, for whatever 
mischief did not originate in Puck’s busy brain was cer- 
tain to be found in his little five-year-old sister’s, and 
the pair trotted off to the kitchen as fast as their fat legs 
could carry them, Puck trying a slide down the banis- 
ters on the way, and motioning silence to Posy as they 
crept past the room where Grandma Frost and Aunt 
Debby sat. 

It was a large old-fashioned house on a Southern plan- 
tation, and built very much as all planters’ houses are, 
except that the kitchen was not away from the house, as 
is commonly the case, but connected with the back-rooms 
on the ground-floor by a hall. This had been added when 
old Mrs. Frost and her niece, Miss Deborah, came to live 
with her grandson, for the old lady had lived at the North 
all her life, and could not reconcile herself to an outside 
kitchen, or, as Aunt Debby expressed it, “ she wanted 
to have things handy.” The family was not a large one, 
now : Reuben Frost, the father of Puck and Posy, was 
dead, and grandma lived at the plantation with Aunt 
Debby, and another grandchild, Dora Lyndon, who was 
the child of her only daughter. Mrs. Frost was the 
children’s guardian, and beside, although the plantation 
aras going to wreck and ruin on account of the war, she 


SIX YEARS AFTER. — PUCK AND POSY. 


1«5 


felt that she must remain there to save what she could 
for Puck and Posy from the confiscating fingers of her 
secession neighbors. 

The two small sinners made their raid upon the kitchen 
with grand success and the usual commotion which at- 
tended their efforts to amuse themselves. Chloe was 
busy making soda biscuit when they arrived, and good- 
naturedly gave them a bit of dough to experiment upon, 
first tying a big apron before each one to protect their 
clothes. Posy dug away sturdily at her portion, but Puck 
grew tired of such “ girl’s work,” and was inspired with 
an idea of improving Chloe’s biscuit by sticking a few 
black pins in them, and making believe that the heads 
were raisins. He accomplished this feat successfully 
while Chloe’s back was turned, and then, pulling off his 
apron, pondered upon what mischief he could perform 
next. The faucet of the water-tank suggested how funny 
it would be to turn on the water until it overflowed the 
pan beneath ; that would save Chloe the trouble of wash- 
ing the floor, and beside, it would run into the rat-hole 
by the fire-place, and if the rat was at home he would be 
forced to run out, and how scared Chloe would be if he 
came up ! Puck rather thought that she might try to 
jump on the table in such an emergency, and laughed 
aloud at the picture of fat old Chloe in such a predicament. 

“ What are you laughing at, me dear ? ” said Posy, 
hearing the chuckle. 

“ Sumpin’ vewy funny,” said Puck, mysteriously. 
“ Don’t say nothin’ about it, Posy, but I’m goin’ to get 
that wat out of his hole.” 

“ How? ” said Posy, dropping her biscuit an the floor 
in her eagerness. 

“ You’ll see ! ” 


and Posy, forced to restrain her impa- 


186 


Marjorie’s quest. 


lienee, picked up her dough, in no way discomposed by 
the specks of dirt which it had gathered on the iloor. 

Silvy, the children’s own particular attendant, was in 
the washroom, washing some of Posy’s white frocks in 
the peculiarly leisurely manner of a Southern negress, 
and presently Posy came out to visit her, having put her 
biscuit in a patty-pan on the hearth, by Chloe’s. Posy 
wanted to help with the washing, of course, and by way 
of aiding the process, she climbed up on the bench beside 
Silvy with the indigo bag in her chubby fingers, and 
before the girl understood what was going on, a stream of 
blueing descended upon the 'contents of the wash-tub, by 
no means improving the white frocks therein. 

“ Law’s me ! what ’s dat ? ” cried Silvy, in great in- 
dignation, seizing the small offender in her arms and put- 
ting her on the ground. “ What you do dat for, missy? 
Jest look at dem does — how you like to wear dem , eh? 
Must be up to sumfin’ de whole day, for true ! ” 

“You always put in blue stuff, Silvy; I’ve seen you 
frith my own eyes,” said Posy, defending herself. 

At this moment a dire outcry arose from the kitchen, 
and both Posy and Silvy ran up the steps to see what 
was the matter. Chloe had just discovered five separate 
streams of water meandering over her kitchen floor, and 
was at present shaking Puck with all her might, while 
the culprit responded to this treatment by a series of 
roars, kicks, and endeavors to bite Chloe in any vulner- 
able spot that was within reach. Blot, a small Skye 
terrier (like an animated door-mat in appearance, but of 
singular sagacity, and devoted to his little master, Puck), 
was proving that devotion by running at Chloe’s legs, 
nipping her fat ankles, and adding his barks to the gen 
$ral hubbub which prevailed. 


SIX YEARS AFTER. — PUCK AND POSY. 187 

“ What ’s all this noise about ? ” demanded a voice 
from the hall door, and as both combatants attempted to 
answer at once, Aunt Debby whisked across the floor, 
gathering her skirts about her, and turned off the faucet, 
which Chloe had forgotten to do, in her wrath at the 
perpetrator of this outrage. 

“ I never did see such a child ! ” exclaimed Aunt 
Debby, in her energetic New England way. “ Chloe, 
let him alone. Puck, stop kicking, and inform me what 
possessed you to turn on that water and get the kitchen 
in such a mess ? ” 

“ Seven evil spiwits,” said Puck solemnly, mindful of 
the Bible reading that morning, with which he had been 
much impressed. 

“You naughty child,” said Aunt Debby, severely, 
divided between her amusement and vexation. “ I don’t 
know what I shall do with you. Just see what a wet 
place ; take a mop, Silvy, and help Chloe clean up.” 

“ He only wanted to get the rat out of his hole,” said 
Posy, taking the offender by the hand, and preparing for 
a valiant defense of her brother. 

“ Yes, it was just to see the wat wun,” said Puck, 
eagerly. “ O, Aunt Debby, do you b’lieve he’d have 
dwowned, weally ? ” 

But his aunt declined to enter upon that branch of the 
subject. 

“ There ’s some blue sky,” said Posy, suddenly, and 
Puck’s drooping spirits revived at the intelligence. 

“ May we go to the fwog pond ? You said you’d see, 
and it ’s clewing up butiful.” 

“ If you’ll put on your rubbers, both of you, and be 
very careful of Posy,” said Aunt Debby, looking at the 
lancing pairs of eyes in front of her. H Perhaps it ’s as 


188 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


good a place as any to play, but if you get into any more 
mischief, children, I’ll put you both in bed.” 

Puck pranced wildly up-stairs after his net, and Silvy 
put on Posy’s india-rubbers, while Blot sat upon his hind 
legs with a peculiarly droll thumping of his tail on the 
floor at the same time, and begged, in dog language, to 
accompany his master. 

Aunt Debby smiled involuntarily as she watched the 
little procession going down the path, and wondered what 
scrape they would fall into next as she beat up some 
eggs for Chloe’s cake. 

The frog pond, where Puck was only allowed to go by 
special permission, was a pool of not very deep water, 
standing in one of the fields at some little distance from 
the house. It had originally been used for the cows to 
drink from, but the spring, from some unknown cause, 
gave out, and the water became stagnant, so the cattle 
were driven elsewhere, and the pool was left to the pos- 
session of the frogs. The children thought it the most 
delightful retreat on the place, although there was not a 
tree anywhere near it, and the sun came blazing out very 
soon after their arrival. 

“ You just hold Blot,” said Puck, in an important 
voice, to Posy. “ He’ll go in swim min’ and fwighten the 
fwogs. Softly, now ; I’ll put in my net here, by this big 
stone, an’ catch that fat fellow, I weckon.” 

Breathless expectation on the part of Posy ; a subdued 
grunt from Puck. 

“ He*’s went away, under that gween moss.” 

Grone home to his little girl frogs,” said Posy, in a 
shrill whisper. “ There ’s another — quick, Puck ! ” 

By this time Puck was so much excited that he leaned 
too far over the side, and with a splash and a bounce he 
rolled over into the water. 


SIX YEARS AFTER. — PUCK AND POSY. 189 

“ I’ve got liim ! ” shouted he, triumphantly, coming up 
gasping, with a frog struggling in his clinched fist. “ Stop 
hollering, Posy; ’tain’t deep water.” 

w You’ve got on your bran new stockings, and you 
know Aunt Debby said she’d put us to bed if we did any 
more mischief, me dear,” said Posy, dismally, allowing 
Blot to escape in her anxiety, which opportunity he 
instantly improved by dashing into the pond and joining 
his master. 

“Now don’t cwy,” said Puck; “I don’t mind goin’ to 
bed if you come too. Take the fwog, an’ put him in the 
pail — I can’t hold him, he wiggles so.” 

Is it cold in there ? ” demanded Posy, after vainly 
stretching across the space between her and the drenched 
figure. “ Cause I guess I’ll come in and bring the pail. 
I’ll have to go to bed anyway ,” despairingly, “ and I 
sha’n’t forsake my brother if he gets punished.” With 
which Spartan resolve, little Miss Posy pulled her white 
skirt daintily around her waist, and deliberately waded in 
to Puck’s assistance. 

She did not like it much however ; Blot splashed her, 
thinking it was a great frolic, and the stones at the 
bottom were slippery, and although Posy wasn’t afraid 
of frogs, she did have a dread of snakes. But she was a 
valiant little soul, and a perfect slave to Puck, so she 
laughed, quaveringly, and made believe she liked it, 
until an eel glided out of the weeds near her, and fright- 
ened her pretty much out of her wits. 

“O — o — o!” squealed she. “We shall be killed — 
0, you naughty, bad boy — you branged me, and we’ll 
be eaten up just like the bears eated up the children that 
tan after the bald-headed Nehemiah.” 

“It wasn’t Nehemiah — ic was Elijah,” cried Puck, 


190 


Marjorie’s quest. 


scrambling out after her, nearly as much alarmed as she 
was, but disdaining to own the fact. “An’ you said 
‘ branged ’ too, an’ that ain’t right.” 

“ What is ? ” demanded Posy, whose correct propriety 
of speech was held up as a model for her brother, who, of 
course, was delighted when he caught her tripping. 

“ Brunged,” corrected Puck, whose past participles 
were always of a most remarkable description. 

“ ’Tain’t any such thing,” quoth Posy, bobbing her 
head indignantly. “ I know what it is ; it ’s bring ed. 
And Elijah was the prophet whom the ravens fed, and 
I’m going right home to tell Aunt Debby that you for- 
getted your last Sunday’s lesson — so now ! ” 

“ I’ll give you the gween fwog all to your own self,” 
called Puck, relenting because he wished to put off the 
day of punishment as long as possible. But Posy was 
wrathful at the recollection of stumbling in her speech, so 
she trotted off, bobbing her head very fast, and Puck, 
whistling for Blot, took up his pail with his beloved cap- 
tive frog, and followed her meditating whether he would 
be put to bed without his dinner or not. 

In this guise the demoralized party appeared before 
Aunt Debby and grandma, making wet tracks across the 
hall and besprinkling the matting plentifully. With 
many sobs Posy told the story, but her generous heart 
smote her when she saw Aunt Debby’s eye glance from 
Puck to the closet where she kept a little rod which was 
used only for the heaviest sins. 

“ He ’s very sorry,” — cried Posy. “ Grandma, please 
ask Aunt Debby to put us to bed and not to whip Puck. 
I wetted my own self — I did, truly.” 

Mrs. Frost, a lovely old Quakeress, with the most 
piacid of faces under her plain muslin cap, laid down hei 
knitting at this appeal. 


SIX YEARS AFTER. — PUCK AND POSY. 191 

“ What does thee say, Posy ? ” 

“ Puck never once thought of his bran new stockings 
till I told him, grandma, and we’ll never go down to the 
frog pond again.” 

“ Give up my gween fwogs ! ” cried Puck, with a dis- 
mal howl. “ I’d wather be spanked twice over. Come 
on, Aunt Debby ; I wont holler vewy bad this time.” 

Grandma smiled at this heroic announcement. “ Puck, 
come here. If I ask Aunt Debby to let thee off, wilt thou 
promise to be good to morrow ? Thee sees, children must 
conform, and Posy- and thee are full of mischief.” 

“ But it ’s dwefful hard to confowm,” said Puck, sigh- 
ing deeply. “ An’ we urns’ go out to play, or sumpin,’ 
for nobody wants us ’round here, seems to me. Sylvy ’s 
washin,’ an’ Chloe ’s mad ’cause I let on the water all 
over the floor to make the wat wun out, and Cato ’s gone 
out in the wagon, an’ Jim ’s diggin’ taters, an’ Dowa 
wont let us come in her woom ” — another sigh ended 
this pathetic account of his own and Posy’s woes. 

“ I think I will only put you to bed this time,” said 
Aunt Debby, exchanging a glance with grandma, “ but 
you must stay there until tea-time, and I shall not give 
you any pudding for your dinners. Lemon pudding,” 
added she, as the faces before her lengthened dolefully. 
“ And the next time you get into such a mess, or let Posy 
wet herself like this, Puck, I’ll whip you with the new 
flick which Cato got for me yesterday.” 

With which awful threat Aunt Debby took the chil- 
dren by the hand and whisked them out of the room 
so fast, that they were quite breathless and panting from 
their exertions to keep up with her when they reached 
the nursery. 

“ I declare, Aunt Debby makes me feel tired ; she hur< 


L92 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


ries so,” said Dora Lyndon, putting her head out from 
the window curtain where she had been hiding during 
this little scene, being fearful that she might be sent up 
to put the children to bed. She was a pretty, lackadai- 
sical looking girl of eighteen, very indolent and pleasure- 
loving, a temperament which exasperated energetic Aunt 
Debby and was the text for many a severe lecture to Dora. 

“ Thee doesn’t trouble thyself to take many extra 
steps, Dora,” said Grandma Frost, reprovingly. Dora 
shrugged her shoulders, but she seldom answered grandma 
impatiently, so she settled herself to the paper-covered 
novel again, and made no reply. 

Aunt Debby came down after a while, with a gratified 
face. 

“ I’ve settled it,” said she : “ that is, I’ve thought of 
a plan which, if you approve of, grandma, will be just the 
thing for those children. They bother my life out. The 
negro servants are not fit companions for them, and I 
can’t have them under my feet all the time. It ’s just as 
Puck says, poor child — 4 nobody ’round seems to want 
him,’ and that ’s not fair to the children. He ’s eight 
years old now, going on nine, and Posy ’s five ; quite old 
enough to be learning something. So I’ve been thinking 
that if we could get a nice, reliable young girl as a sort 
of nursery governess it would be an excellent plan. What 
do you think ? ” 

“ A governess ? ” said grandma, in rather a bewildered 
tone. 

“ Yes,” said Aunt Debby, more slowly, for she knew 
that Mrs. Frost disliked to be hurried, and always wanted 
to talk a matter over in all its bearings before giving hei 
opinion. 

“ Dora might do something, but, bless you ! she won’t 
raise a finger even, to keep them out of mischief.” 


SIX YEARS AFTER. — PUCK AND POSY. 193 

“ Don’t abuse me, Aunt Debby,” said Dora, balf 
iaughing. 

“ O, you’re there, are you? Well, I said nothing be- 
hind your back that I’d be ashamed to say to your face. 
And beside, I don’t think you’ve either the patience cr 
the knowledge to teach them well.” 

“ Thank you,” said Dora, in a deeply offended tone. 

“ It ’s true ; it takes a regular training to know how to 
teach, and you haven’t had it. And the children are just 
running wild,” said Aunt Debby, in quiet exasperation. 
“ If we only had a few good common schools — such as we 
have in Massachusetts — I’d pack them off fast enough, but 
what we did have down here have gone to wreck and ruin. 
The best one in these parts was kept by that Yankee 
down at the Run, and the war drove him off — or tho 
secessionists, I dont know which.” 

“Good riddance,” said Dora, angrily. “We don’t 
want any old abolitionists down here.” 

“ Dora Lyndon, you just wait till your opinion is asked 
for, and don’t be giving your grandma and me any of the 
ridiculous fire-eating notions you’ve got in your silly head 
Bince you came back from that visit to Richmond. We 
believe in God and the Union in this house,” said Aunt 
Debby, rearing her head with the spirit and obstinacy of 
her Puritan ancestors, “ and I don’t wish to hear any Jeff 
Davis principles from you.” 

“ Dora, I am surprised at thee ! ” said grandma, her 
mild eye flashing as she tapped the table with her knit- 
ting-needle. “Does thee dare to talk against abolition 
when thee knows that I and all the Friends abhor slavery ? 
I^ever let me hear thee speak thus again,” and grandma 
looked as if she meant to be obeyed. 

“ I didn’t mean anything tc you, ma’am,” Dora had 
13 


194 MARJORIE’S QUEST. 

the grace to say, as she vanished again behind her cur- 
tain. 

“ What did thee think about the children, Debby ? ’ 
asked grandma, after a pause, during which Aunt Debby 
wisely held her peace and waited. 

“ Of course, there ’s nobody around here who would 
answer ; they’re all too fine ladies for that,” said she, 
meaningly. “ What I thought of was this. It ’s very 
probable that among the two or three girls whom Cousin 
Louisa Moulton has been educating for teachers in her 
Bchool she may have one, or know of one, who would be 
willing to come here. We are on the Border, and per- 
haps she could send us some one who would answer the 
purpose.” 

Grandma reflected for some moments, and Aunt Debby 
sat in silence, sewing up a long seam with rapid fingers. 

“ It might be a good plan,” said grandma, cautiously. 
“ But what would thee have to pay a young girl, Debby? 
Thee knows we cannot afford much ” — 

“ I know,” said Aunt Debby, hastily. “ But I’ve a 
small sum of my own which has been lying for some 
time in Cousin Lemuel’s hands, and it might as well go 
for this as anything else. I can’t have Reuben’s chil- 
dren running wild if I can stop it,” and a tear gathered 
on Aunt Debby’s eyelashes which she instantly winked 
away. 

“ It ’s very good of thee,” said grandma, with a grati- 
fied look at the angular figure. “ Very considerate, Debby, 
and the Lord will reward thee. Certainly I have no ob- 
jection to thy plan ; it seems a very sensible one. Thee 
had better write thy letter, and let Cato take it when he 
goes to the mill ; give my love to Louisa, and ask her L 
«ht hears any news of Cousin Solomon’s family.” 


SIX YEARS AFTER. — PUCK AND POSY. 19£ 

Thus admonished, Aunt Debby drew out an old-fash- 
ioned writing table, and with great pains and labor in- 
dited a letter to Mrs. Moulton, undeterred by Dora’s 
frowns and muttered expostulations. That young lady 
evidently did not look with favor upon the plan, and was 
only consoled by the reflection that perhaps nobody would 
be willing to come, or if some deluded girl did accept the 
situation, she would at least have the benefit of hearing 
what the new Philadelphia fashions were from her, and 
perhaps get an idea for making over her black silk dress. 

When Aunt Debby went up to release the culprits con- 
fined in the nursery she found that Posy was playing hei 
favorite play of “long baby” (as she called it), arrayed 
in one of Dora’s best night gowns, and that Puck, pranc- 
ing around in his little toga, had administered molasses 
and water as medicine to the sick baby, and, not content 
with spilling part of the dose on the counterpane, had 
made a large spot on the carpet. In addition to these 
small mishaps, in climbing on a broken chair he had run 
a splinter into his little bare foot, and Posy, with tears in 
her large blue eyes, sat on the edge of the bed trying to 
probe the wound with her aunt’s best button-hole scis- 
sors. 

“ I declare to mercy,” ejaculated that much-enduring 
relative, as she rescued her scissors, and sat down to 
attend to the urchin’s foot, “ you’re the greatest pair of 
monkeys I ever had the pleasure of knowing. But I’ll 
have somebody to see to you and m 'ike you mind before 
ong ! ” and wagging her head with a mysterious look 
which drove the children wild with curiosity, she kissed 
them both heartily, and sent for Silvy to dress them for 
tea. 


196 


MARJORIE’S QUEST, 


CHAPTER XVI. 


TABLEAUX. 


O up to Miss Daisy’s room, Maggie, and ask hex 



VJT when she has finished dressing to come to me. 
And when she is ready to go, put on your bonnet and 
Bhawl and walk over to Mr. Clive’s with her.” 

Mrs. Moulton was sitting in her little study, a place of 
awe and mystery to her unruly scholars, but a pleasant 
retreat to the older pupils who loved their governess 
dearly. To do Mrs. Moulton justice, there were few of 
her little flock to whom the epithet of unruly would long 
be applicable, for she was a born teacher, and her gentle 
firmness and strong good sense made her much beloved 
by every one who came under her magic sway. 

The servant had been gone but a few moments when a 
little tap on the door was followed by a voice which said, — 

“Did you want me, Mrs. Moulton? I was all ready 
when the message came, but I stayed long enough to put 
my picturesque rags in a basket.” 

“ Picturesque rags ? Come in, Daisy, and tell me what 
you mean ? ” 

A slender figure, in a very simple white dress, with a 
tiny blue bow at the throat, came toward her. The 
same child’s face, with its innocent, wistful eyes, clouded 
now and then with the old, pathetic pain ; the same soft 
yellow hair and delicate skin, with the broad brow and 
determined mouth; it was Marjorie’s very childish seL 
who took the seat which Mrs. Moulton drew toward her 
uni who looked quietly up into that lady’s face. 


TABLEAUX. 


191 


I meant my dress for the tableau,” said Marjorie, 
smiling. 44 Phebe left a bundle of what I call picturesque 
rags here this morning with a message that I must see if 
they 4 fitted.’ ” 

“ I remember now ; these are the tableaux for the 
Sanitary Commission, are they not ? But I sent for you, 
dear, to talk over a little business ; I thought you might 
have an opportunity of speaking to Mr. Clive and Vir- 
ginia about it to-night.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” said Marjorie, wonderingly, as her 
teacher paused. 

“ I have received a letter from a cousin of mine, who 
resides in Virginia with that dear old Mrs. Frost of 
whom you have often heard me speak. She brought me 
up when a little girl (she resided in Philadelphia then), 
and there is no one whom I love more fondly. Her 
niece, Miss Deborah, has written to ask me whether I 
can send her a young girl as governess for Mrs. Frost’s 
little grandchildren, and, Daisy, in many ways it seems 
to be just the opening that you need.” 

44 1 am so glad ! ” Marjorie clasped her hands eagerly. 

44 They are only little children,” said Mrs. Moulton, 
amiling down at her, 44 and, Miss Debby writes, very 
mischievous and bright. I did not mean to have you 
go quite so early, but it strikes me that this would be 
tuch a good beginning. You told me you did not want 
too large children to commence with, and I think you 
ure wise. The family I know to be kind, Christian peo- 
ple, and the salary that Miss Debby offers is a good one. 
There is one drawback, however ; do you object to going 
South during war times ? Debby writes me that, so far, 
they have been unmolested, and the plantation is out of 
the direct line, five miles from Deepwater Run, which 
jtself, is a place of no importance.” 


198 


marjorie’s quest. 


“I am not afraid,” said Marjorie; “but I must ask 
Mr. Clive first. I shall be so glad to be earning some 
thing” 

Marjorie’s eyes were tearful now, and Mrs. Moulton 
patted the cheek nearest her kindly. 

“ My dear child, I am sure we shall not be disap 
pointed in you. I am glad that you are pleased at the 
idea of going to the Frosts. I wanted to lay it before 
you immediately, as Miss Debby tells me of an opportu- 
nity of sending you there with a neighbor who has come 
to Philadelphia on business. Give my love to Virginia, 
and ask her to drive down in the morning and talk this 
over with me. Go and enjoy yourself, Daisy, and give 
me a full account of the tableaux to-morrow.” 

Mrs. Moulton kissed her pupil as she wrapped a shawl 
around her, and calling Maggie, saw them safely out of 
the door. 

Mr. Clive’s house was brilliantly lit, and as Marjorie 
rang the bell, Phebe darted out of the library to meet her. 

“ Glad you’se come, Miss Daisy ; run right up-stairs to 
Miss Ginny’s room. The other folks is dressing in de 
third story.” 

Marjorie gave Phebe her basket, and mounted the 
stairs with light feet. 

Pretty Virginia was Mrs. Randolph now, as fair and 
blooming a young wife as one can imagine. Phebe’s 
Bnrewd predictions had come to pass at last, although it 
was sadly annoying to the faithful nurse to find that the 
grand wedding which she had hoped to rejoice in had to 
be given up for a far different affair. For the breath of 
war had touched Virginia’s life, as it did so many other 
render maidens, and she was married on the very eve of 
he^ gallant young husband’s departure for the front. 


TABLEAUX. 


199 


Fred Randolph had marched away with the New York 
Seventh when that regiment first departed, and the 
misery that Virginia endured during the six weeks of 
their absence made her resolve that she could not have 
Fred leave her thus again. But he came home with the 
firm intention of volunteering, and when it came to the 
point, Virginia could not find it in her heart to bid him 
stay. So they were married, and half of the first year 
of her married life Virginia spent in camp ; the other 
half, between hope and fear, at home. But she kept 
her bright, brave faith through all, and was her father’s 
comforter and Marjorie’s most loving friend during the 
trying times that followed. At last, Fred was wounded 
in one of the great battles at the West, and sent home, 
as he declared, “just battered enough to be nursed;” and 
now, with her husband so much better, Virginia (active 
as ever) launched vigorously into the Sanitary Commis- 
sion, and got up a private entertainment of tableaux 
which bid fair to bring plenty of money into the hands 
of that honored institution. 

“ Is that you, Daisy ? ” called out Captain Randolph, 
as Marjorie put her head in at the door. “ Here ’s this 
wife of mine grown such a tyrant that I had some doubts 
whether she’d let me come down-stairs to witness the 
grand performance. What business has Queen Mary of 
Scotland with tying up the arm of a wounded soldier of 
the nineteenth century ? ” 

“You should try to imagine that you are George of 
Douglass and mean to assist the poor queen’s escape,” 
laid Marjorie, stooping to kiss Virginia as she knelt on 
the floor, looking wonderfully handsome in her rich cos- 
tume of Queen of Scots. “ I’m so glad to find you alone 
for a few moments, Mrs. Randolph. I want to tell you 
lome news.” 


200 


MARJORIE'S QUEST. 


“ Many thanks,” said Captain Randolph, in pretended 
wrath. “ I count for nobody, do I ? ” 

“ Never mind his nonsense,” said Virginia. “ What 
is it, dear ? Any new scholars ? ” 

“ Yes, I hope so,” said Marjorie, with a little mischief 
in her laugh. “ But they’re my scholars, this time, Mrs. 
Randolph. I’ve heard of a situation.” 

“ Daisy ! I thought that the last time that governess 
plan of yours was mentioned we agreed that it was not 
feasible ? ” 

“ But I think this one is,” said Marjorie, in her voice 
of gentle, modest determination. 

“ You’d better look after that girl,” said Captain Ran- 
dolph, nodding his head, fiercely. “I always told you 
she’d take the bit in her teeth some day, and she looks 
now as if she had pretty tight hold of it.” 

Virginia and Marjorie both laughed at this sally, and 
then the story of Mrs. Moulton’s letter was told as suc- 
cinctly as possible. Mrs. Randolph shook her head a 
little, however, when she heard where Marjorie proposed 
to go, and asked her husband’s opinion. 

But Captain Randolph did not seem to think the local - 
ity particularly dangerous, as indeed it had not at that 
time proved to be. He said he would not give any 
advice in the matter, and evidently admired Marjorie’s 
spirit in wishing to try to support herself. 

“We can’t decide anything until I have told papa, 
and have talked over the matter with Mrs. Moulton,” 
said Virginia. “ Daisy — I declare, you’re not dressed. 
What a child: run away to Phebe, and when you are 
ready you will find me in the breakfast room. Fred, if 
you don’t behave with more dignity, my ruff will bt* 
utterly ruined,” and Queen Mary with difficulty extri- 
'sited herself from his enthusiastic embrace. 


TABLEAUX. 


201 


The large parlors were closely packed with specta- 
tors, most of them fashionables, and the tableaux which 
Virginia’s exquisite taste had arranged were pronounced 
very fine, and were loudly applauded. Marjorie did not 
make her appearance until the last but one. 

“What is this? ” asked Mrs. Saunderson, putting her 
eye-glass to her eye in a most affected manner. 

“ 4 Motherless ’ is the name on the programme,” said 
her daughter, Minnie ; “ Virginia said it was after a pic- 
ture of some celebrated modern painter in Rome. She 
was very mysterious about it — I don’t know who ap- 
pears in it. Let me take the glass, Mr. Rogers ; why ! 
it ’s that Daisy Russell.” 

The tableau was a very simple one. Only a girl’s 
face — a girl hardly more than a child — inside a curi- 
ously carved old picture frame ; the bare shoulder which 
peeped through a hole in the old calico dress was white 
and dimpled, and one small hand strove to hold the tat- 
ters together. 

But the simple pathos of the wonderful gray eyes — 
the hungry, wistful droop of the little sad mouth — ah ! 
it was the same motherless look which had gone to Vir- 
ginia’s heart on the day when she first saw her which 
looked out of Marjorie’s eyes then. There was a pause 
of mute admiration ; then, the bit of real life went home 
to everybody ’s heart, and the audience applauded vigor- 
ously as the curtain fell. 

“ Can you tell me who that is ? ” said Mr. Rogers, pass- 
ing his handkerchief nervously across his face. 

u It ’s a poor child whom Mr. Clive and Mrs. Randolph 
*,re educating,” said Mrs. Saunderson. 

“Then she isn’t — - any relation ? ” gasped the gentle* 
man, in a choked voice Mrs. Saunderson stared. 


202 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ Certainly not. I said she was a poor child whom 
Mrs. Randolph had picked up somewhere. The Clives 
are among our very best families, sir.” 

Mr. Rogers murmured something about “ not meaning 
any harm,” and dropped helplessly back in his chair, not 
venturing to say another word for full five minutes ; but 
the lady took occasion to whisper to her daughter, “ The 
man is either drunk or crazy. I wish Harry would not 
send letters by such very peculiar brother officers.” 

“ You know they meet all sorts of people in the army,” 
suggested Minnie, feeling rather sorry for the man’s ap- 
parent awkwardness. So she turned about, being a kind- 
hearted girl in the main, and gave their escort a short 
history of Virginia’s protege. Mr. Rogers did not seem 
as much interested, however, as his previous behavior 
would have led her to suppose, and he looked actually 
relieved when he saw the audience rise to depart. 

“ That was a nearish shave,” thought Rogers to him- 
self, as he went down the steps with the ladies. “ I was 
awfully frightened. What a fool I am not to remember 
that those Clives lived here. I must be losing my mind. 
It ’s lucky the host didn’t see me — I’d be afraid of his 
sharp eyes, even in my wig, with all these whiskers. 
Can that be the child ? The breathing image of her 
mother. Am I never to be free from being haunted by 
that woman ? ” 

Virginia, who had been in the last tableau, came out to 
look for Marjorie and her father. She found them both in 
earnest conversation, and the traces of tears on Marjorie’s 
face told that she had been pleading her own cause. 

“ Do you know that this child is rabid on the subject 
of getting her own living ? ” said her father, drawing her 
down on the sofa beside him. “What am I to say tc 
her?” 


TABLEAUX. 


203 


“ I think we must let her try it, papa/’ said Virginia, 
reading his face with her usual quickness. u The gov- 
erness plan is one that is very near Daisy’s heart, and 
it is so much better to have her make her first attempt 
among people whom we know about.” 

4 ‘ I remember old Mrs. Frost very well,” said Mr* 
Clive. “ She must be almost ninety years of age now. 
Well, Daisy, if Virginia thinks it best and Mrs. Moulton 
also, I suppose I must be overruled. But remember this, 
child — if you don’t like it, or if you get into any trouble, 
my house is always open for you. You’re a good child, 
and I don’t want you to go away.” 

This was so very unusual an outburst for Mr. Clive 
that Marjorie’s only answer was a sob. 

“ I don’t think any homeless girl ever had such 
kind friends,” she whispered, gratefully. But Mr. Clive 
couldn’t abide thanks, so he told her not to be foolish, 
and that the carriage should take her back to Mrs. Moul- 
ton’s, and hurried off to find it. 

“ I’ll come and see you to-morrow,” said Virginia, as 
they kissed each other good-night. “ Mind you tell Mrs. 
Moulton what a success my tableaux were. Thank you 
for your share, Daisy ; if you only could have seen your- 
self ! ” 

But Marjorie did not give much thought to the tab- 
leaux, which, under less exciting circumstances, would 
have absorbed her attention, for she was wholly taken 
up in thinking of her new prospects and the two little 
pupils who were waiting for her down in Virginia. 

But the next morning wore away and brought no 
Virginia. Marjorie began to be quite worried by dinner 
time, and was meditating the propriety of running down 
tc Mr. Clive’s to find out the reason of this delay, when 


204 


MARJORIES QUEST. 


Mrs. Randolph’s carriage drove up. And the moment 
she entered the parlor Marjorie saw that something un- 
usual had occurred. 

“ I could not get away before,” said Virginia, greet- 
ing Mrs. Moulton affectionately. “ Late last night, just 
after you left, Daisy, we had a telegram from Uncle 
Percy to say that poor old Grandpa Clive is dead. He 
died in a fit, very suddenly, and papa has gone on for the 
funeral. I have been packing all the morning — that 
isn’t all,” and sudden tears rushed into the brave brown 
eyes ; “ Fred is ordered away, and I am afraid I can’t 
keep him longer than next week.” 

“ See what it is to be a soldier’s wife in war times,” 
Baid Mrs. Moulton, pressing the hand that lay in hers. 

“ Yes,” Virginia said, checking a sigh. “ But I came 
to talk about Daisy’s plans. Let me see the letter.” 

Mrs. Moulton gave it to her, and Virginia entered into 
the subject with her usual warm, winning interest, 
putting aside her own wishes, which led her to cling to 
the young girl whom she had grown to love so dearly. 
Particularly just now, with Fred going away, she felt 
that Marjorie’s affection would be a very great comfort ; 
but when she saw how ardently the scheme had been 
wished for by her proteg6, she would not express the 
wish to have her give it up, which would have had such 
weight with Marjorie. So, while her two kind friends 
talked over every detail, Marjorie sat listening, building 
golden castles in the air, and thinking how delightful it 
would be to earn some money for herself. 

As Marjorie had grown stronger in health during these 
Bix years, she had ceased to feel the terror which her loss 
of memory had formerly caused her. Many a night had 
she lain awake trying to connect the few broken links 


TABLEAUX. 


205 


which she could remember, and strongest among these 
was the remembrance of Judge Gray, or, as she called 
him to herself, “The man who taught me ‘ The Night 
before Christmas. ’ ” Singularly enough, while she could 
recollect every word of the poem, she could not recall 
Judge Gray’s name or the name of the city where he 
lived. But his face, with its beautiful hazel eyes, and 
kind, merry smile was often before her. “ I shall meet 
him some day,” she would say to herself, “ and then, 
perhaps I shall remember all the rest.” Barney, also, 
was one of the people of her dream-world ; but fancy 
transformed him into her attendant, although she could 
not reconcile the fact that when he was with her she did 
not seem to remember her mother. She finally settled 
upon the idea that he must have been a steward on the 
ship whose tossing she recalled so distinctly. But the 
dream and the hope of some day finding her father was 
fondly cherished by Marjorie, although it seemed as 
vague as ever. One link had come back which made 
the Clives think that there was something very myste- 
rious about her. About six months after her going to 
Philadelphia, Mr. Percy Clive forwarded from New York 
a small parcel, which he said had been left with one of 
his clerks by a poor woman who showed one of their busi- 
ness cards, and said she had been told to leave word there 
by the gentleman who gave it to her. She left no mes- 
sage except to say that “ Nancy ” left the parcel, and it 
belonged to “ little Mary ” — the gentleman would know 
whom she meant. On opening the box it was found to 
contain a string of small gold beads, from which two or 
three had been taken. Marjorie persisted that “ Barney ” 
gave them to her ; the poor child’s memory was so con- 
fused that it was impossible for her to separate the two 


206 


MARJORIE S QUEST. 


changes in her history, and she confounded the beads 
with the bracelet which Barney had really given her. 
She never wore the necklace, but she would take it out 
sometimes, and gaze at it with dreamy eyes, hoping, as 
the months rolled by, that each one would bring the 
past more clearly to her. 

Virginia and Mrs. Moulton settled their plans at last 
and Marjorie was delighted to find that she would proba- 
bly go on as far as Washington with Captain Randolph. 
There was a good deal to be done, and many stitches to 
be taken in Marjorie’s wardrobe, and Virginia offered 
Phebe’s services, and begged for all Marjorie’s spare 
time. 

But the last stitch was taken, the little trunk packed 
with loving hands by Phebe, who wished she was going 
u down Souf with Missy Daisy ; ” and with many kisses 
and prayers Marjorie went away, like the children in the 
fairy tales, to seek her fortune, thereby unconsciously 
taking the first step in the path which was to lead her to 
her father. 


THE CLOUD BEGINS TO LIFT. 


207 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE CLOUD BEGINS TO LIFT. 

■jVjR. PERCY CLIVE sat in a small comer room of 
the old-fashioned house at Craignest, with a large 
secretary open before him. He was a pleasant-faced, 
gentlemanly looking man with a fresh complexion and 
fair hair, which made him look fully five years younger 
than his real age, and, with a strong family likeness to his 
eldest brother, had none of the sternness which generally 
characterized Selden Clive’s face when in repose. Oppo- 
site him in a careless, easy fashion, sat a gentleman in 
the prime of life, in the undress uniform of a general. 
But his handsome face had many lines of care upon it, 
and there was a look of sadness in the deep-set gray eyes 
which told of care and sorrow, and although ten years 
his brother’s junior, General Clive’s hair had, here and 
there, a silver thread in its luxuriant brown waves. 

44 It is a great pity that Selden was obliged to return 
directly to Philadelphia,” said Percy Clive, laying down 
the bundle of papers which he had been carefully looking 
over. 44 I have such confidence in his cool, clear head ; 
I don’t think you ever appreciated him, George.” 

4 4 1 ought to,” said General Clive, with a smile that 
was half mournful. 44 He was always held up to me 
as a model by my father, and I was exhorted to imitate 
him in everything.” 

4,4 You assimilate about as well as oil and water,” said his 
brother. 44 1 can assure you, however, that Selden is as 
deeply disappointed as I am with father’s will. We 


208 


marjorie’s quest. 


hoped so much from his kindly reception of you on your 
return from China. I can’t understand why the old gem 
tleman did not alter his will at that time, and Selden 
is convinced that there is a codicil somewhere . If not,” 
Mr. Clive looked embarrassed and averted his pleasant 
f ace , — “ if not, Selden and I mean to make it up to you. 
You shall have your share of father’s estate.” 

“ That ’s like you, Percy,” said General Clive, laying 
his hand affectionately on his brother’s shoulder ; u an J 
very generous of Selden, but I cannot let you carry out 
your kin d intentions. I have enough of my own hard- 
earned dollars, and should only be glad of some token 
that my father had really forgiven me. But he was 
implacable to the very last it seems ; what an iron will 
he had.” 

“ But he loved you best of us all,” said Mr. Clive, “ and 
that is why I cannot but believe — stop ! This looks 
marvelously like it, by Jove ! ” 

General Clive sprang out of his chair with an excited 
face as his brother unfolded the legal looking paper in 
his hand. 

“ I give and bequeath,” so ran the codicil, after the 
usual formula, “ to Marjorie, the eldest child of my son 
George Clive, and Madeline Herve his wife, one third of 
my personal property, to wit ” (then followed a long list 
of stocks and money amounting to several hundred thou- 
sand dollars) ; “ the same because of my great injustice 
to the said Madeline Herv6 Clive on the night of Decem- 
ber 3rd, 18— ; and I hereby charge my sons and execu- 
tors to institn te search for her whether alive or dead, my 
own efforts having proved unavailing. And I hereby 
make the above bequest as token of forgiveness to my 
son, George Clive, whom by a previous will I have dis* 
nherited.” 


THE CLOUD BEGINS TO LIFT. 


209 


“ Great Heavens ! ” cried Mr. Percy Clive, startled 
Dut of his calm demeanor by a heavy fall. “ The fel- 
low ’s fainted ! ” 

He flew to the bell and pulled it violently, and began 
to undo his brother’s cravat with agitated hands. “ Run 
for some brandy,” cried he, as an aged servant opened 
the door, with a scared countenance. u General Clive 
has been taken ill, Robert — some water, quick ! ” 

But joy rarely kills, and before long General Clive sat 
upright and waved away the brandy in extreme agita- 
tion. 

“ Why did I not know this sooner ? ” asked he. “ My 
darling Madeline ! ” and he hid his face, and sobbed 
aloud as the image of his young wife came up before him. 
Old Robert twitched the sleeve of Mr. Percy Clive’s coat 
as he stood behind him. 

“ Did ye find the paper you were looking for, sir ? ” 
asked the Scotchman, cautiously, in a whisper. “ Be- 
cause I’m thinking it had something to do with the 
lady.” 

Low as the words were spoken General Clive caught 
them. 

“ What ’s that, Robert ? ” said he, eagerly, raising his 
head. Robert had lived with old Mr. Clive in various 
capacities for thirty years, and it was highly probable 
that he might be able to throw some light on the mat- 
ter. 

“ I was only asking Mr. Percy if he found the bit 
paper, sir. Mr. Selden asked me last night before he 
left, if I could tell where the auld ^master kept his most 
valuable papers, and I made answer that it was in the 
secretary, mair because I’d seen him putting papers there 
the day before he was taken, sir. And six months agone, 
14 


210 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


James, and Mrs. Mackensie, and me pit our names until 
a sort of will, — at least, the auld gentleman said so, 
when we signed.” 

“ And pray, why didn’t you say as much when the 
will was read after the funeral ? ” asked General Clive, 
angrily. 

“How did I know, sir?” said Robert, respectfully. 
“ I thought the whole wad be there, and it was only 
when Mr. Selden put some questions to me that I began 
to think the last one was missing.” 

“ What was that you said about the lady ? ” continued 
General Clive. 

“ I’d not want to be interfering,” said Robert to Mr. 
Percy Clive, as the more reasonable of the two. “ But 
I mind the night she came here verra weel, and of late 
my master set me to make inquiries around about.” 

“Tell me the whole story,” said Mr. Clive, glancing 
towards his brother, and receiving an impatient affirma- 
tive gesture. 

“ It was a verra cold night in December,” said Robert, 
feeling very important in having such interested listen- 
ers ; “ or, rather it was late in the afternoon, just after 
the master’s dinner, and snowing hard. I was coming 
through the hall with the candles, when the bell rang 
suddenly ; I put the lights on the bracket, and went to 
open the door. On the step was a lady holding a little 
girl in her arms, and she looked very pale and faint like, 
and asked in a low voice, ‘ Is Mr. Clive at home ? ’ She 
spoke like a foreigner, sir, with a sort of hesitating man- 
ner as if she was uncertain of her words.” 

“ I bid the lady walk in, and was throwing open the 
parlor door, when she stopped me. 

“ ‘ Is Mr. Clive there ? ’ she said, timidly. 


THE CLOUD BEGINS TO LIFT. 


211 


“ 4 No, ma’am,’ said I, quite surprised. 4 1 was going 
co call him if you will walk in and give me your name.’ 

u She rubbed her hands across each other with a sort 
of nervous fright, and said, 4 If you please — would you 
be so vera good as to take me right away to his room.’ 

“ ‘ But I can’t, ma’am,’ said I ; 4 it would vex my mas- 
ter very much.’ 

44 4 Let me come with you, then,’ said she, pleadingly. 

1 1 am very ill ; I got off a sick bed to come here, and if 
he knows who I am I fear he will not see me.’ 

“So I told her to come along behind me as I went in 
with the lights, and asked what name would I say.” 

Robert paused, and glanced with some pity toward 
General Clive. “ Go on ! ” said he, with a groan. 

44 It was your wife, Mr. George,” said the old servant. 
44 She gave me her name, Mrs. George Clive, and for a 
moment I was afraid to go, for my master had forbidden 
me to speak of you from the day he heard of your mar- 
riage. But she looked so pretty and sweet, and her 
hands trembled so, and the little girl kept saying, ‘Are 
you cold, mamma ? are you cold ? ’ in such a winning 
way that I thought maybe my master’s heart would melt 
at the sight of his ain kin ; so I just marched on, and 
threw open this vera door, sir, and put on as bold a face 
as I dared as I set the candles down. Mr. Clive looked 
up at me and the two who followed me, as I said, — 

44 4 If you please, sir, Mrs. George Clive.’ 

44 The auld gentleman dropped back in his chair as if 
he had gotten his death-blow at the name. Then his face 
1 got fairly purple (I was afraid he’d burst a blood-vessel, 
Mr. Percy) • and he said in an awful, choked voice, 4 1 
know nobody of that name. Take this impostor away, 
Robert.’ 


212 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


44 But the lady never flinched. She only loosened hei 
hold of the child’s hand, and at a nod of her head, the 
little girl ran forward and tried to take Mr. Clive’s hand. 

44 4 Won’t you give Marjorie a kiss?’ said she, lifting 
up her pretty little face. 

44 That was your mother’s name, Mr. George, and I 
think it made your father pause, for although he gave 
the little girl a push which almost made her fall, he says 
to me, 4 Go out of the room, Robert, and shut the door.’ 

* 4 So I set down my other candle, and out I walked, 
but I went no further than the foot of the staircase, and 
from there I could hear the sound of voices ; Mr. Clive’s, 
harsh and awful, and the sweet foreign voice, sometimes 
clear, sometimes sobbing. In less than half an hour 
my master’s bell rang furiously, and when I opened the 
door to answer it he looked years older, it seemed to me. 

44 4 Take these people out,’ said he, in a voice like 
thunder, 4 and never let them inside my door again.’ 

44 4 1 shall never come,’ cried the lady, passionately, 
44 4 where my husband has been treated so cruelly. We 
will go, my child,’ and she swept into the hall, Mr. 
George, with her big, beautiful eyes flashing, as grand a 
lady as I ever saw. 

44 But when she got outside, sir, and the door was closed, 
her strength all left her, and she all but fell in a chair. 

44 She was so wan and pale that I was sair frightened, 
and I ran for a sup of wine, and made her taste it. But 
as soon as she revived a bit, not a drop more would she 
swallow. 

44 4 It would choke me,’ she said, pushing it away with 
the saddest smile I ever saw. I did all I could, Mr 
George ; I begged her to come out intil the housekeeper’s 
room and bide awhile till the storm spent itself, for it 



“SHE SWEPT INTO THE IIALL.” 





























I 























. 





















< 







I 






«* 


* 





THE CLOUD BEGINS TO LIFT. 


213 


was a cruel night for a young, delicate woman to be out, 
let alone the child ; but she would not hear to it. So, 
after she’d rested a bit she got up and went to the door. 
Such a blast of wind and snow come in that I made her 
promise to bide a wee, till I could run up intil Mrs. 
Mackensie’s room and ask her for the gift of a shawl 
to wrap around the child, who was but thinly clad. As 
it was for her baby, she said she would wait, and I ran 
up and told Mrs. Mackensie that Mr. George’s young 
wife was below, and going to be turned out in the storm. 

44 4 I’ve nothing to give her,’ said Mrs. Mackensie, 

4 saving a broch£ shawl of Mrs. Clive’s which she gave 
me years ago. The border of it ’s good, and the shawl ’s 
warm, but it ’s so dirty in the centre that I put it away 
to give till the first poor woman came along, and what 
better use could it be put to than wrapping up Mr. 
George’s child ? ’ 

w Mrs. Mackensie gave me the shawl, and I ran down 
with it, and gave it to the lady, telling her ’twas one of 
old Mrs. Clive’s. But she did not pay much attention, 
only asked which was the nearest road to Saybrooke. I 
showed her, and went as far as the gate-house with her, 
but I’m afraid she lost the way, sir, for I have never 
been able to get any trace of her in Saybrooke since.” 

“ And is this all you can tell me?” said General Clive. 

“ That is all, sir, I wish it was more. But indeed,” 
added the old servant, sorrowfully, 44 My master was sair 
troubled about it in his mind, I’m thinking, and many ’s 
the night I’ve heard him groan, sitting there in his 
| bhair, with the newspaper upside down before his face, 
and I make no doubt the thought of turning his ain kin 
out of doors in the storm weighed him down at the last.” 

“ That will do, Robert,” said Mr. Percy Clive, hastily. 


214 


Marjorie’s quest. 


feeling as if his brother could bear no more ; “ please ask 
Mrs. Mackensie to have lunch ready half an hour earlier 
than usual.” 

But General Clive put out his hand as the old man 
passed him. “ Thank you, my good Robert, for your 
kindness to my wife and child ; I shall never forget it.” 

“ Tut, sir, I only did my duty — I wish it had been 
more,” said Robert, greatly touched by the agitated voice 
and kindly smile of him whom he still styled “ the young 
master.” 

“ What do you propose to do ? ” said Percy Clive 
after a while, watching his brother as he walked up and 
down the room, plunged in deep thought. 

“ Do ? ” fairly shouted the impetuous General. “ Do ? 
Scour the country for a trace of my child.” 

“ It was a sad pity that the death of your partner 
obliged you to wait so long before coming home, George. 
I’m afraid you came four years too late.” 

“ It would have made no difference,” said General 
Clive, sadly. “Even now I find it hard to forgive. 
What had Madeline done that she should suffer for mj 
Bake ? I must have been lying ill at your house, at that 
very time. If I could only find that scoundrel, Rodman 
I might lay my hand on the very key-note of this mys- 
tery. He must know something ; he was the only person 
who could. It ’s a sad pity that you turned him adrift 
just after my arrival, for I could otherwise have laid my 
hand on him when I recovered. I must put all the ik>rces 
that I can muster at work to find him if he be still alive,’ 
and General Clive turned pale at the bare possibility o i 
the death of a man upon whom he believed so much de- 
pended. 

“ Don’t be too sanguine,” said his brother. 


THE CLOUD BEGINS TO LIFT. 


21fi 


“ I shall try not to be ; but O, Percy, can you realise 
what a hungry longing I have carried all these years foi 
my wife and child ? Can you wonder that the hope, 
faint as it is, of once more seeing my little Marjorie 
should fill my heart with joy ? ” 

“ And you have my heartiest, warmest wishes for yoiu 
Buccess, my dear fellow,’’ cried Percy Clive, his warm 
heart getting the better of his worldly wisdom. “ And 
in any, or every way you may command my services in 
your search.” 

“ I know that,” said his brother, with equal heartiness. 
“ And I may have to call upon you almost immediately, 
for my leave expires on Saturday, and in the present 
state of affairs, I cannot ask for an extension. We may 
assume the aggressive at any moment, and I must be 
with my command. But, if I leave here to-night, I shall 
have two days at my disposal, and I shall take up the 
faint clew that Robert gives me, and see if I can find any 
trace of my wife and child hereabouts. Wynn is the 
nearest place ; we will begin there.” 

“ I don’t agree with you. With our own unassisted 
efforts we cannot hope to accomplish much ” — 

“ What do you advise ? ” burst in General Clive. 

“ I should go to Saybrooke. It ’s a sleepy town, but 
the largest of them all, and they have some pretensions 
to a police force there.” 

“ To Saybrooke, then,” cried his brother, impetuously. 
“ Order James and the horses to drive us over, while I 
go and pack my valise. How far is it ? Twenty miles ? 
We can get there by seven o’clock with respectably 
fast driving ; the stage route would drive me frantic 
just now.” 

Mr. Clive shook his head a little as he sat down before 
Tie secretary, after his brother left the room. 


216 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


The codicil lay open before him, and he read it over 
again, carefully. It was written in the crabbed, peculiar 
hand of his father, the signature firm as ever, although 
the old man had passed his eightieth year. He must 
have been convinced of the existence of the child or he 
would hardly have willed the property to her absolutely, 
without reserve. Could there be a memorandum of any 
sort in the package where the codicil was found ? The 
thought struck Mr. Clive suddenly, and he immediately 
began to ransack the pigeon-hole where the other papers 
had been. His father had a peculiar way of jotting 
down stray ideas as they came into his mind, and it had 
increased upon him as he began to grow forgetful ; often, 
during Percy Clive’s visits to him, the old gentleman 
would point to a corner of his dressing-table where lay 
square and three-cornered bits of paper with all manner 
of memoranda on them. They had found several heaps 
of these queer-shaped papers stowed away in various 
receptacles since his death, and it struck Mr. Clive that 
some information might be gathered from them. 

But the pigeon-holes did not contain any, and Mr. 
Clive opened the topmost of the row of drawers, deter- 
mined to overlook the whole before mentioning his idea 
to his brother. 

The first drawer was full of leases, the next held law- 
papers, but the third looked more promising. It was 
evidently used for odds and ends ; first came an old snuff- 
box, then a pocket diary, but that merely contained 
jottings of daily household expenditures. Then there 
was a little bundle of very stale winter-green lozenges, 
a pair of rusty looking spectacles, and underneath the 
whole, four or five of the scraps of paper which Mr 
Clive was looking for. 


THE CLOUD BEGINS TO LIFT. 


217 


No. 1 was, — “Mem. To have timothy sowed in 
the five-acre pasture.” 

No. 2. “ Mem. Sold the brown colt ; Percy must 
see to the payment.” 

No. 3. “ Mem. Paid Mrs. Mackensie ten dollars over 
her quarter’s wages.” 

No. 4. “ Mem. Send Robert to Saybrooke to in- 
quire what foundling child was at the 4 Saybrooke Arms,’ 
the winter of 18 — .” 

“ Jove ! ” and Mr. Clive brought his hand down with 
a bang that set the secretary shaking as if it had a 
sudden ague. “ That was a brilliant thought of mine. 
Are there any more ? ” 

But his further search was of no avail, neither was his 
exploration of all the drawers in his father’s room up- 
stairs. Memoranda there were, in plenty, but none of it 
had the slightest bearing upon the case. Then he went 
in search of Robert, and found him in his brother’s room, 
talking garrulously, and relating everything that he could 
think of about his old master’s oddities. 

44 Did my father ever send you to Saybrooke to mako 
inquiries about Mrs. Clive, Robert ? ” asked Mr. Percy 
Clive. 

44 Never, sir. All the inquiries I ever made were at 
Claybourne and Wynn. I never thought that the lady 
could have gone as far as that.” 

44 1 have found a memorandum,” said Mr. Clive, put- 
ting the scrap in his brother’s hand. 44 My father meant 
to send you there. Did you ever hear of any poor child 
who was at the tavern there ? — what ’s the name ? O 
— the Saybrooke Arms.” 

44 The Saybrooke Arms ? That must be the story I 
heard from Sandy Ferguson,” said Robert, with a face of 


218 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


astonishment. “ And I never suspicioned that the auld 
master paid any attention to that. He had a long head, 
ye ken ; he pit two and two together and made four out 
of them.” 

“ How ? ” said General Clive, seating himself on his 
valise, and resigning himself to letting the old servant 
take his own way of telling a story. 

“ Sandy lived at the tavern in Wynn for a good many 
years lang syne, but the man who keepit it fell intil 
drunken ways, and then Sandy cast about for a living. 
He ’s an auld gossip of mine (we came from the same 
place, at home, in Scotland, though Sandy was a bit 
bairn when I came till America), and he comes over 
here, whiles, to see me. He ’s taken up a carpenter’s 
trade this five years gone, and I used to have him over 
to mend the fences and do such like repairs. And one 
day, a couple of months since, he was mending a chair 
for Mrs. Mackensie, and the auld master came along and 
stood a while, talking to her. I mind, now, Sandy was 
telling me about a man named Barney Brian who used to 
live in these parts, and he said he’d been very fortunate, 
and gotten friends in the city, because of a poor foundling 
child that he befriended, and I remember I asked him 
what child it was, and he made answer that it was na 
ony one in these parts ; some one who had been at the 
Saybrooke Arms six or seven years agone. To think 
that auld Mr. Clive heard that ! ’’ 

“ And where is your friend Sandy ? ” asked General 
Clive. 

“ Dead,” said Robert, shaking his head, mournfully. 
“ It was na a week after that he was called. Congestiou 
of the lungs, sir, and ye ken that takes a man awa 
awful sudden.” 


THE CLOUD BEGINS TO LIFT. 219 

“ The end of that clew,” said General Clive, in a de- 
spairing voice. 

“ I don’t think so,” said Percy Clive. “ What is to 
prevent our going direct to the Saybrooke Arms and 
making inquiries. It is remarkably fortunate that we 
have a date to go by; if you notice, the date on this 
memorandum and the date of your wife’s appearance 
here are five years apart.” 

“ That would be it, sir,” said Robert. “ Sandy said it 
was six or seven years syne. How auld was the little 
girl, Mr. George ? ” 

“ Marjorie ? She was between five and six when I 
left England. Five — ten — she will be seventeen now 
— my darling ! ” and the father’s voice trembled with a 
sigh. “ I had forgotten that these years have made her 
almost a woman.” 

“Come, George,” said his brother, rousing him from 
the reverie into which his words had plunged him ; 
“ lunch is ready, and directly after it we will start for 
Saybrooke. Robert, I gave all the necessary directions 
to you and Mrs. Mackensie this morning. I shall be 
back to attend to the closing of the house for the presen % 
in a fortnight’s time.” 

General Clive’s hopes began to revive during the 
journey to Saybrooke. He felt that his brother’s kindly 
interest inspired him to fresh exertions even if this clew 
should fail, and they talked the whole matter over from all 
sides, resolving to leave no stone unturned to discover 
the missing child. 

Saybrooke had grown into quite a flourishing town, 
and was beginning to talk of having a mayor, and mak- 
ing itself a city in time. There were three “hotels,” as 
the proprietors ambitiously styled them, upon a much 


220 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


larger scale tlian the old tavern which was still called 
Ihe Saybrooke Arms. John Merrill’s name was on the 
sign-post which swung invitingly before the door, and 
John himself, grown somewhat stout and red in the face, 
came out to welcome the gentlemen as they alighted. 

“ Why, it ’s Mr. Clive of New York,” said John, who 
had sometimes seen that gentleman on his way through 
Saybrooke. “ Shall I have the horses put up, or are you 
going right on ? ” 

“ Not to-night, Mr. Merrill,” said Percy Clive. “ Have 
you any rooms to spare? My brother and I think of 
remaining over night with you.” 

“ That I have,” said John, greatly pleased that his 
guests had passed by the new hotels to take quarters 
in his more humble abode. “ The best in the house you 
shall have. Supper, sir, and a bit of something hearty ? ” 

“ We won’t object to as good a supper as you can give 
us,” said Mr. Clive, smiling. “ I remember Mrs. Mer- 
rill’s neat table of old. This is my brother, General 
Clive,” seeing the wish for an introduction in John’s 
eyes, as they walked into the sitting-room. 

General Clive shook hands with the landlord, who im- 
mediately improved the opportunity to ask questions 
about the army, the latest news from the front, m Vir- 
ginia, and the probabilities of the success of the campaign 
*n the West. 

General Clive answered them all ; he was pleased with 
the man’s intelligence and stanch loyalty, but when the 
catechism had lasted for nearly half an hour, he gave an 
impatient glance at his brother, who came directly to hia 
assistance. 

“I ^ ant to ask you about your county police, Mr 
Merrill,” said he. “ I have some investigations of 


THE CLOUD BEGINS TO LIFT. 221 

father delicate, nature which I thought of putting in their 
hands. Are th ey efficient, or not ? ” 

44 Not above the ordinary,” said John, shrewdly. 44 But 
they’d do very well to get up a case of burglary, or such. 
If it was a murder, now,” — and he looked inquiringly at 
his interrogator, as if wondering how far he might ven- 
ture to be curious. 

“ I haven’t turned lawyer,” said Percy Clive, laugh- 
ing at the Yankee’s expression. 44 And I don’t want to 
4 work up a case.’ But before I set out in search of a 
constable, I want to ask you if you remember anything 
of a child — a little girl — whom I have been told was at 
this house some time during the winter of 18 — ? ” 

44 We had no steady boarders that winter,” said John, 
after thinking for a moment. 

44 My information is very slight ; I do not know whether 
the little girl I am in search of was here with another 
person or not. But she came here with a man named 
Barney Brian” — 

44 Je-rw-salem ! ” shouted John, jumping out of his 
seat, and rushing excitedly to the door. 44 Mary ! Mary ! 
just come here, will you.” 

The gentlemen exchanged significant glances. 44 1 hain’t 
gone crazy just yet,” said John, seeing their expression 
of surprise, 44 but my wife will want to hear this. Many 
a time we’ve speckalated about that child — here she is. 
Mary, here’s Mr. Clive from New York and his brother, 
General Clive, of the — Army Corps, wanting to know 
something about the little girl you had such a fancy 
'br — Marjorie.” 

44 Marjorie ? ” echoed Nurse Mary, as she courtesied 
lespectfully to the gentlemen. 44 Dear 3011I ! I’ve nevei 
forgotten her pretty ways.” 


222 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ I want to know all you can tell me about the child,” 
laid General Clive, in a husky voice. Nurse Mary looked 
at him, and decided that there must be some cause for 
his agitation, as she told, in quite a concise way, the 
story of Judge Gray’s having found Marjorie in the 
stage-coach ; how he brought her to Saybrooke, and pro- 
vided her with clothing, and how Mr. Stevens had taken 
her away. 

“ After that, gentlemen,” said Nurse Mary, “ I cannot 
tell you about the child, for I never heard of her but 
once, and then Judge Gray told me that she was well 
and happy in New York. The Judge is on another court 
now, and he has not held sessions here since that year, 
18 — ; we have another judge in his place. Many ’s 
the time, as John can tell you, that I ’ve talked of going 
on to see Master Reginald (he ’s a grown man now), 
and hear all about little Marjorie, but somehow, the day 
never seemed to come when I could leave and I’m getting 
an old woman to be gadding. If I might make so bold, 
do you know who the child really was ? ” 

“ I am not quite sure,” said Mr. Clive, with a warning 
look at his brother. “ The name is a singular coinci- 
dence, for the child whom we are trying to find bore the 
old-fashioned name of Marjorie. You are sure that this 
little girl’s name was not Margaret, or Maggie ? ” 

“ I am, sir,” said Mrs. Merrill, warming to her subject 
with all a woman’s curiosity and interest. “ And there 
were many things about the child which made me think 
her better than she seemed. There was her very nice 
way of speaking — quite proper and dainty, like Master 
Reginald himself, and she got vexed whenever any one 
tailed her 4 Irish.’ And beside, Barney hinted to me that 
die was nothing to him, or to that McKeon, either, where 


THE CLOUD BEGINS TO LIFT. 


223 


she had lived. And the shawl she had wrapped about 
her was quite too fine for such people ; I’ve seen one of 
Mrs. Gray’s which was very similar.” 

“I will speak, Percy,” cried General Clive, who had sat 
in growing excitement as this conversation went on. “ I 
am looking for my child, Mrs. Merrill ! my only child, 
and her name was Marjorie.” 

“ The Lord be praised ! ” ejaculated the good woman, 
tears springing to her eyes. “ If anything could do my 
heart good it ’s such news as that.” 

u What kind of a shawl was the one you are speaking 
of ? ” asked General Clive. 

“ This was white in the centre, with a border of deli- 
cate green ; the border just as nice as ever, but the white 
was badly soiled.” 

“ It really seems as if we had got upon the right track 
at last,” said Mr. Clive. “ I know Judge Gray by repu- 
tation ; he is a judge of the Court of Appeals. We can 
go directly to his home and find out all about this child, 
George. And now Mrs. Merrill, I am very hungry, and 
if my brother here can live on hope, I cannot.” 

Nurse Mary smiled, and bustled away to get supper 
ready, leaving the brothers alone ; talking briskly to her 
husband over the strange story which she half suspected 
must hang around Marjorie’s life, as she beat up her 
omelet and fried the potatoes. 

It was quite impossible for General Clive to be any- 
thing but restless under the excitement which hearing 
Mrs. Merrill’s story had caused. He concluded that any 
eference to the Saybrooke police would be unnecessary, 
**nd made up bis mind that he would go on to see Judge 
(Tray the next day, having just so much time to spare be- 
fore joining the army. Half the evening he sat talking 


224 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


with Nurse Mary, hearing every little detail that she 
could recollect about Marjorie, the color of her hair, her 
sad eyes, and gentle ways ; the good woman ran on un- 
weariedly about the child. Of Barney she could say but 
little ; he had left Wynn, and had never returned there, 
but the rumor of his having got on in the world, thanks 
to Judge Gray, had reached her. 

The next day, General Clive said good-by to Saybrooke 
and started for Binghamton, thence to J udge Gray’s. 

His brother left him at Binghamton, having business 
which called him directly to New York, where General 
Clive would see him for an hour as he passed through on 
his way to join his command. 

The hours seemed very long to the impatient father, 
even though he kept telling himself that perhaps disap- 
pointment was in store for him at the end of his journey. 
When he finally arrived at his destination he drove to an 
hotel, made a hasty toilet after his dusty ride, and or- 
dered a carriage to go to Judge Gray’s. 

“ Is this the house ? ” said he, to the hackman, as they 
stopped. 

“ Yes, sir, this is the place, but it looks mighty like 
being shut up,” said the man. “ Shall I pull the bell ? ” 

But General Clive preferred to do that himself, and 
after several impatient rings a sleepy looking maid opened 
the door. 

“ Is Judge Gray at home ? ’’ asked General Clive. 

“ No sir.” 

“ When will he be in ? ” asked the questioner, impa- 
tiently. 

“ Dade, sir, I don’t know. The Judge have gone on 
till - - wirra, but the name is beyont me, entirely, where 
the soldiers is any way — to see Mr. Reginald — Captain 
Gray, that is, his son.” 


THE CLOUD BEGINS TO LIFT. 


225 


44 How long has he been gone ? ” 

44 Three days sure.” 

“ Don’t you know when he will return ? ” asked Gen- 
eral Clive. 

44 I think he’ll not be gone mor’an this day week, least, 
the other servants will be back then.” 

44 Is there nobody here with whom I can leave a mes- 
sage ? ” asked General Clive. 

44 Sorra a one but me,” said the girl, staring at him. 
44 W ould ye lave your name, sure ? Miss Rachel has gone 
away on a journey, and there ’s nobody here, and the 
parlor ’s shut up, or I’d be after axing ye to walk in.” 

General Clive reflected a moment ; then he took a card 
from his pocket and scribbled a line on it, — 

44 1 called upon important business, but will write you 
from head-quarters, where I am ordered immediately. 
May I beg for an early reply to my letter.” 

44 Give that to Judge Gray as soon as he arrives,” said 
he ; 44 there is no other message.” 

Back to the hotel, in great haste, when he found that 
he had just lost the sleeping-train to New York, and would 
be forced to wait until six o’clock in the morning. This 
would give him barely time to reach Washington, so he 
dispatched a telegram to his brother Percy, asking him 
jo meet him at the depot on his way through New York ; 
then he smoked, or tried to smoke a cigar, and finally, 
throwing it away in restless disgust, he threw himself on 
his bed to dream that a golden-haired girl with Madeline’s 
own smile stood before him, and, on waking, found liis 
eheeks wet with unwonted tears. 

15 


226 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

CAPTAIN BEX. 

M ISS DEBBY rattled the breakfast cups, and glanced 
over at Dora’s empty chair with a lowering brow 
that betokened the approach of a domestic hurricane. 
The eleventh commandment on her table of laws was in 
regard to early rising ; she firmly believed that all the 
virtues began with getting up when the birds did. Many 
had been the trials of poor Miss Debby since she left her 
beloved Massachusetts and came to this benighted land 
where the very negroes loved to lie abed in the morning, 
and where seven o’clock breakfasts were looked upon as a 
relic of past ages by most of the neighborhood. Aunt 
Debby’s cap (if she had worn one) would have long ago 
been lifted a few feet from the crown of her head if her 
favorite assurance that “ such laziness made her hair stand 
up straight ! ” had been carried out. Grandma Frost was 
a great comfort to her in these seasons of exasperation ; 
no matter how early the hour at which Aunt Debby 
elected to leave her bed and energetically proceed to fling 
open the doors and windows of the house and call up the 
servants, grandma’s night-cap would be seen peering out 
of her door, and her mild voice heard saying, “ Is that 
thee, Debby ? Most breakfast time ? ” 

But above all, Dora was a thorn in the flesh on thi§ 
subject. Aunt Debby “ declared ” every morning, regu 
larly, that her conduct, “ for a grown girl, was disgrace 
ful,” and would append the satirical reflection that she’d 
like to see the house she’d keep * guessed it would do the 


CAPTAIN REX. 


227 


keeping itself ! “You know very well, Dora, she would 
add, with indignant emphasis, “ you know that nothing 
whatever can be done in a house until the breakfast things 
are cleared away. Servants standing around waiting, and 
everything going at sixes and sevens ; not one blessed bit 
of work can I get begun until your breakfast is over. I 
mean to buy a cow-bell and see if that won’t wake you 
up.” 

Which she did, the very next time she went in to Deep- 
water Run, and in her matutinal promenades for some 
days after, she made noise enough to awaken the seven 
sleepers of celebrated memory, but it only brought Puck 
prancing out in his little toga, in a state of rampant glee 
at the commotion, praying to be allowed to “ wing the 
bell in Dowa’s ears,” and had no effect whatever upon the 
delinquent, who calmly turned over and went to sleep 
again as soon as the cow-bell ceased. 

“ Dowa ain’t up yet ; weckon I shall have to tend to 
that bell,” said Puck, in a voice of mild conviction, as he 
saw Aunt Debby’s glance. 

“ Don’t speak with your mouth full of bread and 
butter, me dear,” said Posy, in a funny whisper, which 
was perfectly audible to the rest of the company. Puck 
frowned at her, but was prevented from replying by a 
Bpoonful of mush and milk which nearly choked him and 
kept him occupied for full a minute. 

“ Dora never is ready,” said Aunt Debby, sharply. 
' 6 I’am glad to that Miss Russell is punctual.” 

Mrs. Moulton’s study hours were early,” said Mar- 
jorie, smiling brightly at her from her corner of the table. 
4 Posy made me a call as soon as she was out of bed and 
that woke me.” 

“I should think it might, ’ srud Aunt Debby, smiling 


228 


MARJORIES QUEST. 


in her turn at the gentle face opposite her. u I don’t 
mean to have the children with you all the time. How 
did you rest last night ? The dogs kept me awake for an 
hour, and then I heard them the first thing this morning.” 

“ Are you sure it was the first thing, Aunt Debby,” 
said Dora, languidly taking her seat at the table. “ I 
heard your window go up, well, some time before dawn.” 

“ I don’t doubt it. What convenient ears you have, 
Dora ; they never hear when I want them to. I’m afraid 
the coffee is cold ; Uncle Cato, please get some that is hot,” 
said Aunt Debby, whose hospitality would not allow her 
to give cold coffee even to Dora, unless she was later than 
this. 

Marjorie had arrived the day before, escorted by Mr. 
Giles, a neighbor of the Frosts, who had brought her 
from Washington, not having been able to get to Phil- 
adelphia as he had anticipated at first. But Marjorie had 
enjoyed her journey with Captain Randolph very much, 
and the sight of a review of the troops at Georgetown, 
which happened to occur the day that she stayed over in 
Washington, delighted her extremely. 

It seemed very strange to have permits to pass the lines, 
but after journeying a little further the aspect of the 
country grew less warlike, and Deepwater Run was the 
stupidest looking village imaginable, so totally unlike any- 
thing that Marjorie had ever seen at the North that she 
felt as if she must be in another country, and her first 
touch of homesickness came over her, as she realized that 
she was really in Virginia, and that during war times. 

Puck and Posy were introduced to their gentle little 
governess in a very characteristic manner. Their minds 
had been much excited, and their imagination had ex- 
hausted itself in trying to picture wnat a governess looked 


CAPTAIN REX. 


229 


like ; so, upon tlie day that Marjorie was expected they 
were in a perfect twitter of excitement and implored Aunt 
Debby, Dora, and Silvy, in turn, to dress them in their 
very best Sunday clothes to do honor to Miss Russell’s 
arrival. After they were dressed, Dora had shut both 
children and Blot in the nursery, and left them playing 
contentedly, telling them not to come down until she 
came for them. 

Aunt Debby was standing on the front piazza, welcom- 
ing Marjorie cordially, and shaking hands with Mr. Giles, 
when a little bobbing head came out of the front door, 
and Posy’s scandalized voice exclaimed, — 

“ I shall tell Aunt Debby ; it ’s a girl, anyhow ; ” and 
as Marjorie turned to look at the little figure, Posy 
caught hold of Miss Debby’s skirt, in great excitement. 

“ O, Aunt Debby, what do you think Puck says ? 
He baptized my doll, Belvidera, and he gaved her a new 
Dame — Elijah the Tishbite ! Shall she be called that 
when she ’s a girl ? ” 

Marjorie sat down on the doorstep and laughed heart- 
ay. as a rebellious voice cried, from the staircase — 

“ Belvidewa ’s a — heathen name,” bump, bump, “ and 
Aunt Debby said so ” — puff, — “ and Elijah the Tish- 
bite is a vewy Cwishtian name, ’cause it was in the lesson 
— yesterday,” finished Puck, triumphantly, getting to 
the end of the stairs and his breath at the same moment. 

“ Perhaps I can give you a name for her,” said Mar- 
jorie, as the children brought up suddenly in front of her, 
and were recalled to a remembrance of politeness by 
Dora’s warning glance. 

“ I’m Posy,” said that little personage, introducing 
herself instantly, “and this is my brother, Puck. Hia 
name ’s Jonathan Edwards Frost, but I never call him so 
cept when lie ’s an improper-behaved boy 


230 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“You haven’t called me so since the day we got 
dwowned in the fwog pond,” said Puck. “ This is Blot, 
my dog.” 

Marjorie acknowledged the presentation by a pat on 
the Skye terrier’s head, who wagged his tail daintily in 
return, and immediately took refuge between the sturdy 
fat legs of his little master. 

“ He doesn’t get acquainted vewy easily,” said Puck, 
apologizing. 

“This is the doll,” said Posy, seeing that Dora was 
approaching, and being very curious to know what name 
her new friend could suggest. “ Wasn’t it very wrong of 
Puck to baptize her 4 Elijah the Tishbite ? ’ Now I can’t 
take it back, can I ? ” and Posy looked ready to cry. 

“But you can give her a nickname,” interposed Mar- 
jorie, “just as you call Puck, Puck, instead of Jona* 
than.” 

“ Vewy twue,” quoth Puck, with solemn countenance, 
making up his mind that 44 Miss Wussell ” was much pret- 
tier than Dora, who had heretofore been his ideal of 
beauty. 

44 What nickname ? ” demanded Posy, breathlessly. 

44 How do you like Seraphina ? Very long ago, when 
I was a little girl,” said Marjorie, a shadow stealing over 
her face, that, for a moment, made her look as if it were 
really very long ago to her, — 44 when I was a little girl I 
had a doll, and I called her Seraphina.” 

“ That ’s bu-ti-ful ! ” cried Posy, hugging Elijah the 
Tishbite enthusiastically ; and the unconscious prophet 
was dubbed Seraphina from that moment. 

Grandma Frost was sitting in the parlor as Marjorie 
entered, as beautiful a picture of an old lady as one can 
ivell imagine. In the quaint dress of a Friend, her snowy 


CAPTAIN REX. 


281 


kerchief folded across her bosom, her gray silk, and little 
brown shawl, just large enough to coyer the shoulders 
and falling to the waist, with her sweet, placid face and 
gentle dignity, Marjorie thought she had never seen any 
one who impressed her so much. Grandma sat in an old- 
fashioned, straight-back chair, erect as ever, although she 
was ninety years of age, knitting in a noiseless way pecul- 
iar to herself, but she laid the work down as Marjorie 
advanced toward her. 

“ I am pleased to see thee,” said the old lady, smiling. 
“ How does thee do ? Why, thee is hardly more than a 
child thyself. What do they call thee ? ” 

“ Daisy Russell,” said Marjorie. 

“ Daisy ? To be sure ! Nowadays, thee sees, they call 
the young folks after all sorts of names ; in my day, we 
took them from the Bible, or used the old family names 
of fifty years before.” 

“ Such ugly names as they were, grandma,” said Dora. 
“ I’ve read them in the old Bible record, often. Aaron, 
Jeremiah, Eliphalet, Orchard ; and then the women — 
Miriam, Rebecca, Mehitable, Deborah,” and Dora looked 
mischievous she gave the last on her list. 

“ Good, sensible names that mean something,” said 
Aunt Debby, emphatically. 

“ We made sensible women out of Rebecca and Debo- 
rah,” said grandma, laughing. “ But I don’t think Me- 
hitable would suit thee, Daisy ; it would be a very long 
name for such a little body. We have droll nicknames 
in this house. Posy, there, for instance ; her name is 
Helen, after her mother ; but her father could not bear to 
hear his wife’s name after her death, and the baby, th^e 
sees, was as sweet as a garden posy, so, one day, Reuben 
aaid she should be called so. And Puck ; that was some 


232 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


of Dora’s fanciful ideas. I cannot say that 1 altogether 
like to give up the old-fashioned ‘ Jc nathan,’ but we must 
conform sometimes, and by and by, when he grows older, 
it will be Puck’s turn to be known by the family name.” 

“ It ’s dwefful hard to confowm, gwandma,” said Puck, 
thrusting himself into the circle, and prefacing his re- 
marks by a long-drawn sigh. “ An’ Jonathan ain’t hall 
so nice a name as some others. Why didn’t you and 
papar call me Elijah the Tishbite ? ” 

A hearty laugh from the entire company reduced Puck 
to a pitiful state of mystification, and grandma laughed 
more than anybody, on hearing the story of the doll’s 
baptism. 

As the days went on, Marjorie began to like her life at 
the Frosts thoroughly. The very negroes gave her a 
home feeling, thinking of Phebe, and they took a great 
liking to “ li’le Missy from de Norf,” as they called her. _ 
Mrs. Frost’s negroes were mostly house-servants. Very | 
many of those who had worked upon the estate had run , 
away since the war began, and the old lady would take I 
no steps to recover them, as she was at first urged to do 
by her secession neighbors. At last came the Emanci- 
pation Proclamation, and in her heart grandma rejoiced, ; 
and, as she told Aunt Debby, privately, “ I can hold up 
my head again, for thee knows it has gone sadly against j 
my principles to hold them in bondage. No matter if 



cleaner, and the curse lifted from the land.” 


Grandma’s ideas on the subject of slavery were pretty 
well known in the neighborhood, but she was so highly 
respected that her abolitionism was laid to the fact of hei 
being a Friend. She was obliged to be very prudent in 
war matters, however ; like all Unionists at the South in 


CAPTAIN REX. 


238 


those days, she never felt secure. The bolt might fall at 
any moment ; and, for the children’s sake, the old lady 
held her peace, and buried her stanch patriotism and 
ardent love for the Stars and Stripes within her own 
bosom. She could remember three wars ; it remained 
for the fourth to fill those aged blue eyes with tears. 
Such stories as grandma could tell, with all the vivacity 
and minuteness of detail that carried one back into the 
very times themselves ; told, too, with a simple elegance 
of language and clearness of thought which fascinated 
the listener, from older people down to Puck and Posy, 
who thought grandma’s recollections were equal to any 
fairy tales extant. 

Dora, who at first had been rather distant and fine- 
ladyish in her manner toward Marjorie, thawed after 
a while, and plunged into the opposite extreme, desiring 
to be very intimate all at once. But Majorie had the 
same reserve and dignity which had been her character- 
istic as a child ; and, although she was perfectly kind and 
cordial in her manner, Dora had an aggravating feeling 
that she could get no nearer this childlike-looking gov- 
erness. And it vexed her ; she began to be suspicious, 
where no cause for suspicion existed, and gave Majorie 
credit for being “ very deep and sly,” whereas, it was the 
purity and utter simplicity of the girl which baffled her. 
And another thing annoyed Dora, although she would 
not for the world have had it known. 

The Frost’s nearest neighbors were a family named 
Peyton, who prided themselves upon being one of the 
much-vaunted “ F. F. V.’s,” and were the hottest of hot 
secessionists. The two sons, Clifford and Harry, were in 
the Confederate army, and the girls, Belle and Rose, were, 
if anything, more attached to the cause than their brothers. 


234 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


Belle and Dora were bosom friends ; they had been school- 
mates, and during the past six months they had been 
visiting together at the house of Mr. Peyton’s brother, in 
Richmond. Rose was the younger of the two sisters, and 
she had taken a violent fancy to the little Northerner 
whom Fortune had sent down among them, very much to 
the disgust of her sister and Dora. And unfortunately, 
Harry Peyton (who happened to be at home, where he 
had been sent from an hospital, to recover his health) 
had chosen to express great admiration for the pure, inno- 
cent eyes, and unconscious beauty of Marjorie’s quiet face ; 
expressed, too, in the high-flown language of a very young 
man, who could not comprehend that Marjorie’s failure to 
understand his compliments proceeded from her being 
totally unused to anything of the sort. This had been 
the drop too much in Dora’s cup, for Harry had been her 
special cavalier ever since she was in pantalettes, and her 
feelings toward Marjorie rapidly verged upon rancorous 
spite. 

One afternoon as Marjorie sat reading aloud to the 
children in the nursery, she became aware, by the sounds 
from the piazza below her, that a carriage full of guests 
had arrived. 

Puck and Posy had been having a mischievous outbreak 
that morning, and they were condemned to exile in their 
own room for the entire afternoon. Marjorie had, how- 
ever, so far mitigated the punishment as to come and read 
several fairy-tales from Grimm’s story-book, and when 
she heard the hubbub of guests outside the house, quite 
congratulated herself upon having such occupation. But 
Bhe was not permitted to remain quiet long, for the door 
opened, presently, with an impatient jerk. 

“ Are you up here ? ” demanded Dora, petulantly, pub 


CAPTAIN REX. 


235 


ing her pretty face inside. “ I came to ask if you can’t 
come down. Grandma ’s asleep, and Aunt Debby ’s off 
somewhere on one of her tramps over the place, and the 
Peytons are here, and who do you think should just drive 
up, in addition, but Cousin Lemuel Hicks.” 

“ Who is that ? ” asked Marjorie, laying down her 
book, and thinking she must call Silvy to make the chil- 
dren presentable. 

“ O, a prosy old fellow, a cousin of grandma’s uncle 
or somebody equally near, who lives beyond Deepwater 
Run in the nicest old house — so I’ve heard ; I’ve never 
been there and never want to,” said Dora, regardless of 
syntax. “ And Belle and Rose never saw him before, and 
I know they’ll giggle, and I can’t talk to them all, at once, 
you know, so I thought I’d run up and beg you to come 
down for half an hour, until grandma wakes up. I carried 
him off into the next room ; you don’t mind — do you ? ” 

“ Certainly not,” said Marjorie, pleasantly. “ If you 
think Posy ’s apron is clean enough I will put a fresh 
blouse on Puck and take them down with me. They 
might get into mischief if I leave them here alone.” 

“ Why don’t you call Silvy to dress them,” said Dora, 
as Marjorie began to smooth Puck’s refractory brown 
curls. 

“ She is ironing, and I know she wants to get done be- 
fore tea,” said Marjorie, simply. 

“You do beat all,” said Dora. “ If you’d lived among 
ihese lazy niggers as long as I have you’d find out that 
the only way to get anything out of ’em is to keep at ’em 
*11 the time. And it ’s worse than ever now, since that 
interesting Proclamation. Hurry, won’t you; cousin 
Lemuel might get tired and march out on the piazza, and 
[ don’t want the Peytons to see him — O, dear ! They ’ll 


236 


MARJORIE S QUEST. 


all stay to tea, and have to meet ; ” and with a despairing 
shake of the head, Dora vanished. 

“ Cousin Lemuel — that ’s the old gentleman who 
bwings us peppermints ; don’t you mewember, Posy ? '* 
said Puck, tugging at his shoe-strings. 

“ Yes,” answered Posy, promptly, with a dive that 
nearly upset the basin in which she was washing her 
hands. “ That was five or six years ago.” 

“You made a mistook this time,” retorted Puck — 
“ five years ! you ain’t but five years old, Posy. How 
could you know ’bout Cousin Lemuel’s peppermints ’fore 
you was bom ? ” 

“ Papa told me when I was a baby, me dear,” said 
Posy, with a calm assurance which rather staggered Puck. 

“ Come, children ; take care of that top step, Posy,” 
and with a rosy face on each side of her Marjorie went 
down into the little west parlor. 

An elderly Friend sat in the large rocking-chair, fan- 
ning himself leisurely, and Marjorie had only time to 
think what an odd, rusty-looking figure he was, before he 
turned and saw her. 

“ Who is this ? ” said Friend Hicks, in the gruffest of 
voices, but rising courteously, nevertheless, on Marjorie’s 
entrance. “ One of thy visitors, Puck ? ” 

“It’s our governess,” cried both children, in a breath. 

“ I am Daisy Russell,” said Marjorie, introducing her- 
self in the simple Quaker fashion. “ Mrs. Frost is asleep, 
and the children and I came down to keep you company 
until Miss Debby comes in from a visit to a poor woman. 
T am expecting her every moment.” 

“Is there any more of thee?” asked the old gentle- 
man, abruptly, his grim face softening as he glanced at 
the sweet one before him. 


CAPTAIN REX. 


237 


“ Sir ? ” said Marjorie, opening lier eyes a little, and 
wondering if she could have left a piece of herself outside 
on the door-mat. 

“ Have you got any brothers and sisters ? — that ’s 
what Cousin Lemuel means,” interposed Puck, seeing 
her face of bewilderment. 

“O!” and, try as she might, a smile of quiet fun 
danced around Marjorie’s lips. “I beg your pardon — 
no ; I am an orphan.” 

“ Thee looks very young to be a teacher, very,” said 
Friend Hicks. 

“ I am young,” said Marjorie, gently. “ But I have 
to earn my own living, you know. Mrs. Moulton (the 
lady in Philadelphia who educated me) was a very faith- 
ful teacher, and she thought I was competent to teach 
children as young as these.” 

“ Louisa Moulton, eh ? Then thee knows something , 
which is more than I can say for most girls in these days. 
An orphan ? well,” nodding abruptly, “ the Lord takes 
care of those who try to help themselves, thee’ll lind. 
And how is Louisa Moulton in these perilous times ? ” 

Posy, who considered that she had been left out of the 
conversation quite long enough, stuck her arch face over 
Friend Hicks’ shoulder, having climbed on the back of his 
chair for that purpose. “ I s’pose you haven’t got any 
peppermints for little girls ? ” said she, in an indescrib- 
ably insinuating voice. 

“Posy! You’re vewy impolite,” said Puck, in vir- 
tuous indignation, but edging nearer the pocket from 
whence the peppermints might be expected. 

“ Heyday ! so thee remembers the last time,” said 
Friend Hicks, wheeling around toward the little pleader 
with a twinkle in his eye, notwithstanding his gruff tones. 


238 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ No, it was me,” cried Puck, as the great hand w&a 
pulled out of the pocket and disclosed a paper full of 
tempting red and white peppermints. 

“ Thee said thy little sister was very impolite to ask,” 
said Friend Hicks, holding the candy suspended over the 
heads of the round-eyed pair. 

“ Well,” said Puck, with the utmost deliberation, and 
drawing his R’s to twice their usual length, “ I weckon 
I’m — impolite too ! ” 

Friend Hicks indulged in the dry chuckle which seemed 
to be his nearest approach to a laugh at this naive 
admission, and Puck and Posy retired into a corner to 
discuss the peppermints as Aunt Debby and grandma 
came in the side door. 

Grandma seemed very glad to see the old gentleman, 
and the pair seated themselves, grandma in her straight- 
backed chair, and Friend Hicks opposite her, and began 
a cautious conversation upon the perilous times and the 
war which seemed to come nearer them every day. Aunt 
Debby improved the opportunity to give minute direc- 
tions as to the arrangement of Friend Hicks’ room to 
Marjorie, who offered to oversee Silvy’s handiwork and 
get out the clean linen. It was proof of Aunt Debby’s 
liking for Marjorie that she handed out the keys of 
the linen closet ; a mysterious sanctum which Dora had 
never yet been permitted to set her foot inside of ; but 
Marjorie had shown herself willing and ready to be of 
service in many ways since her arrival, and now she 
slipped quietly away to execute Aunt Debby’s orders and 
see that the guest was made comfortable. 

When she came down again, half an hour later, she 
fcound the family going out to tea, and Rose Peyton laid 
hold upon her immediately. 


CAPTAIN REX. 


239 


“Where have you been hiding, you Northern lily,” 
said Rose, who was a bundle of small affectations, and 
had chosen this poetical style of addressing Marjorie. 
“ Dora said you were entertaining that curious old bear,” 
a backward glance at Friend Hicks, “and I had half a 
mind to run away from the others and help you.” 

“ Thank you,” said Marjorie. “ But he is not a bear 
at all ; I liked him.” Which remark caused Rose to 
regard her with a puzzled stare ; any man over five-and- 
twenty was a fossilized specimen, to Rose. 

Marjorie found Harry Peyton at her elbow as they 
seated themselves at the tea-table, and he cleverly slipped 
into Puck’s seat on her left hand, that young gentleman 
having attached himself closely to Friend Hicks. The 
children usually sat one on either side of their governess, 
and Posy’s apron was so stiff, and the strings starched so 
much, that several of Harry’s complimentary speeches 
passed unheeded while Marjorie was attending to her 
little charge. 

“ I think you might give me half an ear, Miss Daisy,” 
rtaid he, in a low voice. “ All I can see is the back of 
your neck. I’m going off before long, and you might be 
a little kind.” 

“ I beg your pardon ; what did you say ? ” said Mar- 
orie, turning a face of such entire simplicity toward 
Harry, that, for a moment, it completely confused him. 

“ I said I was going away,” said he, recovering himself. 

“You don’t expect me to say I’m sorry ? ” said she, 
b a/ding. “ My sympathies are all on the other side, you 
£now.” 

“We’ve had quite a skirmish in the Valley, lately,” 
Cliff Peyton was saying on the other side of the table. 

An hundred or so killed, and as many more wounded. 
The Yankees got the worst of it though, and fell back.” 


240 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“Were they outnumbered?” asked Marjorie. She 
knew it was not prudent, but she could not help it. 

“ Like as not,” said he, carelessly, thinking that if the 
Little governess had not been so pretty he would be angry. 

“ Why don’t you say k of course,’ ” said Aunt Debby, 
emphatically. “0,1 forgot. Five Yankees to one Con- 
federate is about the right allowance, isn’t it ? ” 

“ Just about,” said Harry, interposing, good-naturedly. 
“Don’t be so caustic, Miss Debby. You’re the onfy 
Yankee I ever saw who could make corn-bread like this.” 

“ Lucky I’ve got something to make me endurable,” 
retorted she. “ Daisy, you’re eating nothing. Take 
care that Posy doesn’t make herself ill with marmalade.” 

But the conversation had gotten a warlike aspect now, 
and only respect for Mrs. Frost kept the young men 
within bounds. As it was, Marjorie sat listening, her 
eyes on her plate, her cheeks tingling, and a curious 
lump in her throat, longing to combat them, and feeling 
as if she had never realized how dear the old Flag was 
before. It was her first experience in hearing Confeder- 
ates talk, and happening to look up she caught a look 
c rom under Friend Hicks’ bushy eyebrows which betrayed 
that, however calm his exterior, inwardly the Quaker was 
carnally-minded and “moved to anger.” 

For the rest of the evening Marjorie avoided the 
Peytons as much as she was able to without being 
pointed, and sat in the west parlor talking to the older 
people. Friend Hicks seemed to have taken a fancy to 
her, so she sat down by the old gentleman and told him 
ah the details in relation to Mrs. Moulton which she 
thought would interest or amuse him. 

The Peytons went away, at last, Rose promising tc 
some over m a few days and take Marjorie and Dora ou* 


CAPTAIN REX. 241 

on hor&eback. And then Marjorie went up-stairs to 
bed. 

Passing along the hall a few minutes later on her way 
to ask Aunt Debby a question, she was startled by seeing 
Friend Hicks’ door open softly, and his head slowly 
emerge from the aperture. 

“ Is that thee, Debby ? ” 

“ No, sir ; it ’s Daisy. Can I do anything for you ? ” 
Baid she, wondering what could be the matter as she had 
arranged his room with the greatest care. 

“ O yes, thee will do. Ahem ! ” clearing his throat 
carefully. “ Could thee get me a night-cap ? I have for- 
gotten mine, and I shall surely take cold if I sleep with- 
out it.” 

“ A night-cap ? ” said Marjorie, biting her lips to 
restrain a smile. “I’ll ask Miss Debby.” 

“ Do ; I’ll be infinitely obliged to thee,” said Friend 
Hicks, in a relieved voice, bobbing his head inside his 
door again as Marjorie went to find Miss Debby. 

“ My stars ! ” ejaculated that lady, raising both her 
hands in dismay at the request, as Marjorie explained 
her guest’s dilemma. “ Haven’t got such a thing to my 
name. What ever shall I do ? He’ll get cold, and, like 
enough, be sick for a week on our hands — not but what 
I’d be willing to take care of him ; and good care too,” 
added Aunt Debby, repenting her inhospitality. “ What 
are you laughing at, Daisy ? ” catching sight of Marjorie’s 
dancing eyes : “ how would one of Aunt Frost’s do, I 
wonder ? ” 

“ I don’t believe he’d wear it,” said Marjorie, breaking 
into a laugh ; “ but I’ll take it to him and try, if you 
will give me one.” 

So Aunt Debby went into grandma's room, and pres 
16 


242 


MARJORIE T S QUEST. 


entiy emerged therefrom with a night-cap of immaculate 
whiteness, bordered by a frill of ancient pattern, being 
very wide and very full. Marjorie had her doubts as to 
its probable acceptance, but she took it, and going to 
Friend Hicks’ door tapped softly. 

“ Did thee find one ? ” said the gruff voice, anxiously, 
as he opened the door. 

“ Only this, sir,” said Marjorie, respectfully, hoping 
that Dora would not come down the hall. u It ’s one of 
Mrs. Frost’s, and I’m afraid you won’t want to wear it.” 

“ Just the thing,” announced the old gentleman, clap- 
ping it on his head, and pulling the strings under his 
chin complacently. “ A trifle short on the forehead, 
maybe, but I’ll pinch these furbelows down,” and he 
gave the night-cap a pull which made the frill bulge out 
on the left side in a very tipsy manner, and gave a rakish 
look to his grim face that was indescribable. 

“ Is that all, or can I do anything more for you ? ” 
asked Marjorie, thinking that she had never seen such an 
irresistibly comical figure, and controlling her smiles with 
the utmost difficulty. 

“ I’m obliged to thee, no. Good-night,” and she went 
down the hall, her face dimpling with amusement. 

“ Friend,” a queer whisper reached her ears just as she 
touched the knob of her door, and turning back she saw 
the night-cap bobbing up ahd down mysteriously, “ if 
it wouldn’t be too much trouble, would thee tie these 
tapes ? My fingers are all thumbs ; I am not accustomed 
to these caps, thee knows.” 

Marjorie tied the night-cap, and again bidding good- 
slight she got safely into her own room where her merri- 
ment exhaled in a long laugh. 

Fortunately for Aunt Debby, Friend Hicks did not 


CAPTAIN REX. 


243 


catch cold, and tlie next day, greatly to Dora’s relief, the 
old gentleman returned home, evidently much pleased 
with his visit. He invited Marjorie to come and see him, 
and bring Puck and Posy, and Marjorie promised that 
Bhe would go some Saturday and stay until Monday with 
Aunt Debby and the children. 

She little thought under what circumstances she would 
meet the grim old Quaker again. 

Puck had beer a model of good behavior for some 
days. He had arrived at words of three syllables, and 
having conquered hah a page of them one morning, he 
implored permission to accompany Cato on an expedition 
to cut pine-knots in a remote part of the plantation. 
Posy was terribly discomfited at not being allowed to 
accompany the party, but it was too far for her ; so she 
watched Cato, Puck, and Blot as long as the cart was in 
Bight, and was but partially consoled by one of the most 
exciting fairy tales in Grimm’s collection. 

Uncle Cato was a genuine specimen of the Southern 
negro, although his grizzled hair was white, in some 
places ; and he was much more neat in his personal attire 
than most of his class. This was owing to Mrs. Frost’s 
unwearied efforts ; the old lady was so scrupulously neat 
herself, that it made her positively unhappy to have a 
Blovenly house-servant. Her ideas had taken root with 
Cato, who waited at table with a style and manner that 
was very impressive, always standing at “ ole missis’ ” 
chair, and leaving his son Joe to wait upon Miss Debby. 
Cato rarely went out to do any work, but the last pine- 
■uiots that had been brought home by Jim, the coachman, 
.vere “ a very poor lot,” as Cato said, so this morning he 
was determined ro see what he could get for himself. 
Puck thought it was great fun to go with Uncle Cato 


244 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


and he tumbled around in the bottom of the cart, playing 
with Blot, and vainly endeavoring to stand on his head, 
a proceeding that was attended with great detriment to 
his hat and his clothes. 

“ Dis yer ’s de place, I reckon,” said Cato, standing up 
in the cart at last, and peering out into the grove of pines. 
“ Jump down, Massa Puck ; I’ll take care ob de hatchet.” 

Puck obeyed, bursting two buttons off his knickerbock- 
ers in the descent, and turning a complete somersault 
over Blot, which brought him up in a state of bewilder- 
ment (Puck, not the dog), and set him wondering why 
he never could accomplish that magnificent feat when 
he wanted to astonish Posy. 

Cato found the tree upon which Jim had begun to ex- 
periment, and hacked away at it to his heart’s content, 
laying in a goodly array of knots. It was great fun to 
watch him at first, but after a while Puck grew tired ; he 
was such a piece of perpetual motion that he never was 
contented with anything long. Blot’s antics were the 
only play that he never wearied of, and to these he now 
devoted himself. He made the dog perform all his little 
tricks, — fetch and carry, beg, bark, and growl, and then 
he began to run races with him. Each race carried the 
pair a little further from Cato, until at last they were 
quite a quarter of a mile away, and, being tired out, the 
playmates sat down to rest. 

“ Tired, Blot ? ” said Puck, panting and puffing him- 
self. 

Blot thumped his tail affirmatively, then pricked up 
his ears, glared with droll fierceness into the underbrush, 
and gave a low growl. 

4; What is you looking at i ’ demanded Puck. “ Don’t 
s’pose there ’s any snakes wound here. Wish I had a 
tame snake ; wouldn’t I fwighten Posy.” 


CAPTAIN REX. 245 

Blot gave another sniff, jumped up suddenly, and then 
began to bark. 

“ There ain’t anybody round ’cept Cato,” said Puck, 
who held regular conversations with Blot, and firmly be- 
lieved that the dog understood all he said. “ ’Tain’t a 
musk-wat — ’cause there ain’t nothin’ but bushes. Blot, 
you must learn to walk on your hind legs, like that dog 
Miss Daisy tells about that b’longed to the soldier in 
Philadelphia. Wonder how you’d look dressed up like a 
soldier ? I’ll get Miss Daisy to make you a blue coat 
an’ jacket — le’ me see,” meditatively: “ I don’t know 
what kind of jackets Union soldiers wear. I’ve never 
seen any but gway ones like Harry Peyton’s.” 

Blot, whom he had been holding by his fore paws dur- 
ing this soliloquy, now made a frantic struggle to get 
away, and a voice just over Puck’s head said, faintly, but 
with a mirthful sound in it, — 

“ Shut your eyes tight for a minute ; then open them, 
and I’ll show you a blue jacket.” 

Puck gave a bounce off his stone and looked behind 
him. An arm was parting the thicket, and above it was 
a pale face and long brown mustache surmounted by a 
dirty bandage which partially covered a crop of chestnut 
turls. Blot, like the sensible dog he was, had ceased 
barking the instant the stranger spoke, and in another 
moment a tall young man in a blue uniform sat down by 
Puck’s side. 

“ Where did you come from ? ” gasped Puck, with 
>*ound-eyed amazement. 

“ Out of the swamp,” said the stranger. “ I’m very 
hungry and thirsty ; can you tell me if there is a spring 
anywhere about here ? ” 

“Nothin’ neawer than the fwog pond,” said Puck 


246 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


gravely. “ An’ that ’s dwied up. I guess ” — very 
cautiously, and edging off a little as if afraid of the con- 
sequences of his remark — “I guess you’re a wunaway 
soldier, eh ? ” 

“ What if I am ? what would you do ? ” asked the 
stranger, with an amused face. 

“Soldiers never should wun,” said Puck, severely. 
“ That ’s what Aunt Debby said. An’ Harry Peyton 
said that only Yankees did — my . wasn’t she mad ? ” 
and he forgot the rest of his speech in the recollection of 
Aunt Debby’s wrath. 

“ Where do you live ? ” said the stranger presently. 

“ Two or three miles off, over that way,” said Puck, 
pointing over his shoulder to indicate the direction. “If 
you’ll come with me I’ll get sumpin’ for you to eat ; 
weckon Uncle Cato bwinged some lunch. He mos’ always 
does.” 

“ Who dat talking to li’le massa ? ” said an anxious 
voice beside the pair. It was Cato, who had come softly 
over the grass, looking for his mischievous charge. 

“ I was asking this little fellow where I could find 
something to eat and drink,” said the soldier. Cato’s 
suspicious face changed as he saw the blue uniform ; his 
hat was in his hand and he was bowing with great defer- 
ence. 

“ Massa is one of de Lincum sogers, eh ? Where did 
you come fruin, massa ? Dis yer ’s a bery bad neighbor- 
hood ; eberybody secesh ’bout hyar.” 

“ I came from a swamp over in that direction, where I 
ppent last night,” said the soldier, pointing across the 
nedge. 

“ Laws ! Dat de bery wosse place ob de lot, sai ; dat ’s 
Cunel Richards’, where dey keep de hounds, black debils 


CAPTAIN REX. 247 

"tlt huntin’ de pore nigga and de ’scaped prisoners, 
Massa ain’t one ob dem, for sure ? ” 

“ I won’t say much about myself, my friend, for feai 
you might be questioned,” said the soldier; “ I know you 
darkies are to be trusted ; the day before yesterday a 
negro gave me my breakfast. I was wounded in the 
head as you see,” touching his bandage, “ and it wants 
doctoring.” 

“ An’ here I am, like an old fool, talkin’, while massa 
is getting hungrier,” said Cato, recollecting the stranger’s 
first request. “ Le’ me help you ’long sar; if you’ll take 
dis chile’s arm and kinder hobble oyer yonder where de 
cart is, dere ’s some hoe-cake and apple pie dar, an’ 
you ’s ’tirely welcome to my share, sar.” 

Puck ran ahead with Blot in a high state of excite- 
ment. What an adventure this would be to tell Posy 
and Miss Daisy. How glad he was that he came after 
pine-knots this morning, as it had afforded him a sight of 
a real, live Yankee soldier. 

Cato looked carefully around to make sure that there 
were no intruders, and then helped the soldier into the 
cart, and sat down to watch. The young man ate as if 
he was half-famished, but after the first few bites, the 
food seemed to make him faint and ill, for he leaned back 
against the side of the cart and motioned for a drink of 
some currant shrub which Cato had luckily brought along. 
In turning his head suddenly, the soldier knocked the 
pole which supported the covering of the cart, and, to 
I Cato’s dismay, and Puck’s infinite terror, the wound on 
i uis head began to bleed violently. 

“ My gwacious, Cato, he’ll be dead wight off,” cried 
Puck, frightened almost to death at the sight of the blood 
trickling down the young man’s ghastly face. 


248 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


44 You jes’ hold on dat ar mighty tight,” said Cato, for- 
getting his customary respect, and seizing hold of the 
duty bandage. 44 We’ll haf ’em in a minute, massa. 
Hi ! never saw nuffin bleed like dat ar ; better be spry, 
for sure.” 

He pulled out his red bandana handkerchief as he 
spoke, and tried to stanch the blood with it ; but in a few 
seconds it burst out again, and Cato was in dismay as he 
saw by the pallid lips and difficult breathing of his patient 
that he must have assistance. 

44 Dis never do,” cried he. 44 Miss Debby, she know, 
for sure, what to do. I’ll haf to take you to our house, 
massa, or if dat ain’t safe, to dis nigga’s cabin and let 
ole Cl’rinda tend to you. Massa Puck, your li’le hands 
mus’ do de driving ; Cato’ll haf to see to dis ar hisself.” 

Puck was nothing loth to play charioteer, so he climbed 
out in front and slapped the horse with the reins in a 
very important manner, while Cato made his patient lean 
back against him and hold one end of the bandage while 
he held the other as firmly as possible. But every jolt 
brought a pang with it, and as they drove around to the 
back-door of the house (after a long twenty minutes, 
which seemed like hours to Cato), the soldier turned 
even more ghastly white than before, and lay senseless in 
the negro’s arms. 

Marjorie happened to be in the kitchen with Aunt 
Debby, engaged in 44 doing over ” some jelly, and she 
had just gone out to the door to bring in some jelly - 
pots which Chloe had set in the sun to dry, when the 
cart drove up. 

44 What is the matter ? Why, Cato, who in the world 
have you got there ? ” said she, almost dropping the jelly- 
pots in her surprise at the appearance of the blood-stained 
stranger. 


CAPTAIN REX. 


249 


u Dunno, missy ; spects it ’s one of Massa Lincum’s 
sogers, de Lord’s own people for setting de slaves free. 
Where ’s Miss Debby ? — he ’s very bad ” — 

“ My stars ! Here, Jim ! ” ejaculated Aunt Debby, 
flying out of the kitchen, and upsetting three pots of 
jelly in her hasty exit. “ Jump right into the cart, and 
help Cato lift that young man out. Bring him straight 
up — where ’s Dora ? ” with sudden anxiety, as she saw 
the blue uniform. 

“ Gone to see Missy Belle, an’ won’t be home till tea,” 
chimed in Silvy, at her elbow, her eyes starting half out 
of their sockets at the apparition carried past her in Jim’s 
end Cato’s arms. 

“Thank goodness!” in a relieved tone. “Take him 
right up into the little room off mine, quick. Silvy, 
take Puck, and keep him with Posy in the back kitchen 
until I send for them. Daisy, run up into grandma’s 
closet, and get down that blue box on the second shelf — 
it ’s full of lint and bandages — and bring it to me.” 

As she gave these rapid orders, Aunt Debby was filling 
a basin with water, and now catching up a sponge which 
lay on the kitchen table, and unfastening her scissors 
from her belt where she always carried them, she whisked 
down the hall and up the front staircase behind her pa- 
tient, as fast as her feet could carry her, while Marjorie 
svent swiftly up to find the lint and bandages. 


250 


MARJORIE S QUEST. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

CATO’S GUEST. 

M A RE you fit for this work, child ? ” said Aunt Debby 
raising her head and eyeing Marjorie as she stood 
beside her. 

The bleeding was stanched at last, and Aunt Debby 
was free to think of some one else beside the soldier, who 
opened his blue eyes as she spoke. 

“ I think so,” said Marjorie, steadily. She had been 
at Aunt Debby’ s side every instant, helping in a deft, 
quiet way that aroused the good lady’s admiration. 

“ You’ve good stuff in you,” said Aunt Debby, ab- 
ruptly. “ He ’s coming round. Put a spoonful of that 
brandy to his lips.” 

“ Thank you,” said the faint voice, as Marjorie followed 
the direction she had received, and the blue eyes glanced 
curiously from Aunt Debby’s angular, spare face, to the 
child-like one which bent over his pillow. 

u You mustn’t talk much, though I’m free to confess 
that I’d like to ask you a few questions. I see yours in 
your eyes : you want to know where you are. Well 
we’re good Union people in this house ; make your mind 
easy. , The blacks are faithful, most of ’em old servants 
It ’s no ways likely that you’ll be set upon by the seces« 
sionists, for we’re a family of Friends, and are principled 
against fighting. And you’ll have to make up your mind 
to stay here till that head gets better If it ’s not im- 
pertinent, I’d like to know your name , I am Deborat 
Frost.” 


CATO’S GUEST. 


251 


A mirthful, twinkling smile crept into the soldier’s eyes 
as Aunt Debby’s crisp sentences came forth in her odd, 
quick way. 

“ My name is — you may call me Captain Rex,” said 
he. u Not that I do not trust you,” added he, hastily, 
seeing the gleam of incredulity in Miss Debby’s eye, 
“ but I am so fearful of getting any one into trouble. 
And that is truly a part of my name, — you’ll forgive me 
for not giving the last half of it ? ” 

“ Hum ! ” said Aunt Debby, surveying him. 44 When 
I was a girl, 4 Rex ’ meant 4 King ’ in my Latin grammar, 
and like as not it stands for the same thing now. You’re 
right, young man, and have more sense in that cut head 
of yours than I have in my gray one — I sha’n’t ask you 
another word about it.” 

44 But I want to tell you,” began he, eagerly. Aunt 
Debby stopped him. 

44 No, you don’t — at any rate, not now. You will eat 
a little chicken soup which I’m going to send you, and 
then you must keep perfectly quiet until I come here 
again. Cato, you stay here until I send Silvy up. That 
bandage looks as scientific as if Doctor Forsyth himself 
had put it on,” giving it a satisfied pat. 44 A precious 
good doctor was spoiled in me. Daisy, in half an hour 
you come in and give him a teaspoonful more of that 
brandy,” and, gathering up her various belongings, Aunt 
Debby departed to superintend the chicken broth and tell 
grandma the story of the wounded soldier who had sought 
Bhelter with them. 

Marjorie found the children in a state of excitement ; 
Puck, in the act of rehearsing the wounded soldier for 
Posy by tying his head up in a towel, and daubing his 
rosy face with soap suds, to represent blood. 


252 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


Marjorie took possession of the pair of rogues, and re- 
duced their rampant spirits to something like quietude by 
telling them that they must be very careful what they 
Baid about the poor young gentleman. 

“ For you know,” said she, “ that there are many 
wicked people about here who would think it right to 
bring other soldiers and drag him away to prison, if they 
knew he was here ; and so, children, you must be very 
particular not to say a word about what has happened.” 

“ I’ll pwomise, Miss Daisy,” said Puck, “ an’ then, you 
know, I can’t tell, if I want to, ’cause it is dwefful to 
bwake a pwomise, Aunt Debby says.” 

“ That would be bearing false witness, me dear, and 
maybe you’d fall down dead like Ananias and Sapphira,” 
said Posy, deeply impressed. “ Would he, Miss Daisy ? ” 

“No, dear, I think not. God punishes people for tell- 
ing wrong stories in different ways now,” said Marjorie, 
who knew that the only way to talk to these droll little 
people was to meet them on their own ground. “But 
I’m glad you understand the value of a promise. I can 
trust you, Posy ? ” 

“ Of course,” said the little maid, with much dignity. 
“ I can keep a promise as well as Puck, if I am ever so 
much younger.” 

“ Very well ; then you may go down and see if dinner 
is nearly ready, and don’t disturb your grandma.” 

The soldier lay with his blue eyes half closed as Marjo- 
rie entered his room, but they opened at the first sound 
of her low voice. 

“ Better, thank you,” said he, meeting her sympathiz- 
ing look with a bright smile. “ I am only weak from loss 
of blood, and hunger. I was wounded in the battle o! 
Opeauan Creek, and have been wandering about evei 


CATO'S GUEST. 


253 


iince, trying to get back on the 4 debatable ground,’ fear- 
ing to fall in with some of Early’s men, and spend an 
indefinite period in a rebel prison.” 

44 But you weren’t to talk,” said Marjorie, thinking 
that the lithe, long limbs, and broad chest betokened great 
strength, and that the merry smile was the sweetest she 
had ever seen, except one. 44 Uncle Cato hasn’t been 
doing his duty, I fear.” 

44 Yes, I has, missy,” said Cato, affronted. 44 1’se done 
all de talking my own sef, dat ’s de trufe. ’Spose Use not 
goin’ to let de young marster know what sort of folks 
he ’s fallen in with, eh ? We ain’t none of yer por'e white 
trash, but a ’spectable Quaker family, one of de fust in 
Pennsylvany.” 

44 Then continue to do all the talking,” said Marjorie, 
with such a winning glance that Cato was mollified. 44 Is 
there anything more that I can do for you ? ” 

The soldier thanked her, and begged for the chicken 
broth, and she went away to ask Aunt Debby about it. 

But Captain Rex was restless after that, and Cato 
found that his stories of the family grandeur did not meet 
with as strict attention as he desired. 

The girl’s gentle face haunted Reginald Gray ; if he 
closed his eyes, it danced befoie him tantalizingly, and 
when he opened them he saw her still. Whom did she 
resemble ? Where had he seen her before ? 

But she did not come back that night. The only other 
visitor whom he had was Aunt Debby, who came in at 
twilight, and, having made sure that the head was doing 
nicely, sat down by his side for a chat. 

44 I’ve been thinking about you,” said she, 44 and 
grandma and I have talked the matter over. We can’t 
let you go away at present, but an unknown guest is a 


m 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


Buspicious individual in these times, to some of our neigh* 
bors. So I’m going to spirit those clothes of yours away,*' 
nodding significantly at the uniform hanging over a chair. 
“ and give you a suit of Reuben’s, none the worse for 
wear, which hangs up-stairs in the clothes-press. It’s 
not a Friend’s dress, so you won’t feel awkward in it. 
And I mean to give out that you’re a relation from the 
North — (Boston won’t do ; that ’s too abolition) — say 
from New York. If anybody asks me, I mean ; I sha’n’t 
tell any unnecessary lies.” 

“ I hope you will not be obliged to tell any on my ac- 
count,” said Captain Rex, unable to help smiling. 

“ Well, you see, I’m not sure but I’ve got a weak one 
in the camp,” said she. “ It ’s my niece.” 

“ Not that young girl whom you called Daisy ? ” said 
Captain Rex, with a startled face. 

“ Bless you, no ! She ’s one of the right sort. My 
niece Dora was fortunately out of the house when you 
came into it, and, as luck will have it, only got back five 
minutes ago. I’m thankful that she didn’t bring that 
hot-headed Harry Peyton with her. The fat would have 
been in the fire, then. I am afraid to trust her. She ’s 
had her silly head turned by a parcel of Confederate offi- 
cers whom she met down in Richmond, and she’d be bit- 
ter enough against the Union, only she don’t quite dare 
to before her grandma and me. And you’d best be care- 
ful when she ’s round — that ’s all ! ” 

“ But, my dear lady, with all thanks for your kindness, 
1 think there is too much danger attending my stay — dan- 
ger to you, I mean. If I can rest for a day more I think 1 
should be able to go on ; it cannot be many miles to Win- 
tkester, unless I have wandered very far out of the way. 

“It ’s twenty odd miles by the road,” said Aunt Debby 


CATO’S GUEST. 


255 


resolutely, “ and you ain’t any more lit for such a tramp 
khan a six-months-old baby. Don’t you fret about the 
danger ; I’ll look out for that, and if I see any signs of a 
muss I’ll promise to send you off. I have a friend beyond 
Deepwater Run where you can go, in case of emergencies. 
Good-night ; Cato will sleep on the sofa, and my room is 
the other side of that door. Mind you’re careful about 
Dora — you may talk to Daisy and welcome.” 

“ Is she another niece ? ” asked Captain Rex, detain- 
ing her. 

“She ’s the children’s govbrness, and no relation,” said 
Aunt Debby, curtly, as she closed the door. 

Dora was sitting before her glass, taking down her hair, 
as Aunt Debby entered. 

“ What ’s all this that Silvy says about some strange 
young man, who came here to-day ? ” said she, before 
Aunt Debby had time to open her lips. 

“O, she told you, did she ? ” said Aunt Debby, feel- 
ing that it would be a relief to shake Silvy for her indiscre- 
tion. “Yes. A friend of ours, from New York. Some- 
how, he got hurt in the head and he ’s laid up for the 
present. 

“ What ’s his name ? ” said Dora ; “ seems to me it ’s a 
mighty queer time for civilians to be coming down here.” 

“Mr. King,” said Aunt Debby, feeling thankful that 
she could give a reply which she believed to be the truth. 

“ O, one of those Kings that grandma is forever talk- 
ing of,” said Dora. “ I didn’t know but it might be a 
spy of some sort. Harry Peyton was telling me that h$ 
received notification to-day of the escape of a very danger- 
ous one, and that a troop of mounted horse were scouring 
the country for the man.” 

“ He can just keep his mounted horse away from this 


256 


marjorie’s quest. 


house,” said Aunt Debby, feeling quite absolved for the 
untruths she had been guilty of, at this unwelcome intel- 
ligence. “ Now, Dora, do be up to breakfast to-morrow, 
for I shall have my hands full, and you do hinder so, com- 
ing down late, and keeping the table standing.” 

Dora laughed ; and Aunt Debby went off to consult 
Marjorie, and was relieved to learn from her that the 
children had been tutored. For the little people had been 
bo carefully trained that she knew their promise was 
Bacred ; and feeling secretly uneasy about Dora, and re- 
Bolving to keep her guest out of Harry Peyton’s way, 
Aunt Debby retired, after kissing Marjorie good night. 

For two days Captain Rex kept his room by Aunt 
Debby’s advice, but on the third morning, as Dora came 
languidly into the west parlor where grandma sat, she 
Baw a tall figure lounging in the corner, with Puck and 
Posy at either elbow. 

“ My grand-daughter, Dora, Friend King,” said Grand- 
ma Frost, placidly. The gentleman rose, and despite his 
disfiguring bandage, Dora exclaimed to herself, “ O ! 
what a handsome man,” as he bowed pleasantly. 

Reginald Gray was as mischievous as our old friend 
Regie had been, and he was secretly much amused with 
the air3 and graces which Dora proceeded to play off on 
him. He wished that the little governess would make 
cer appearance ; he had not seen her since that night 
when he came. 

Puck had shown off all Blot’s tricks to his new friend, 
and Posy, not to be behind in attention, had conducted 
her family of dolls down-stairs, and was performing tha 
several introductions, which Captain Rex received with 
ike utmost gravity. 

“ This is Lily Rose,” said Posy, displaying a doll with 


CATO’S GUEST. 257 

an unfortunate fracture in its left cheek ; “and this one 
is called Rose Violet.” 

Captain Rex admired the young lady, and inquired what 
accident had disfigured poor Lily Rose. 

“ I jumped off the bureau one day and fell wight on 
her head,” explained Puck. 44 Posy cwied, more ’an Lily 
W ose did, and I saved up all my money and branged her 
another from the store at Deepwater Wun.” 

44 Yes ; wasn’t he a good brother? ” said Posy. 44 This 
is the one.” 

44 Belvidewa,” said Puck. 

“ It ’s not,” said Posy, forgetting her customary polite- 
ness, and flatly contradicting him. 44 Her name ’s Sera- 
phina, ’cause you went and baptized her 4 Elijah the Tish- 
bite,’ and Miss Daisy said she could have a nickname, and 
she called her Seraphina, after a doll she had ’long time 
ago when she was a little girl — so now, me dear. Didn’t 
you, Miss Daisy ? ” 

Marjorie was entering the room with a plate of some 
delicious compound (the secret of which was only known 
to Aunt Debby) for their guest, and the light from the 
open window fell full upon her sweet face. Swift as light- 
ning, Reginald Gray’s thoughts flew back to just such a 
pair of pathetic, child’s eyes ; Posy’s last speech had struck 
the chord he had been vainly seeking for in his memory, 
and the color rushed into his pale cheeks as he said to 
himself, 44 Her very image ! can it be my little Madge ? ” 

44 Did I what ? ” said Marjorie, as Posy caught hold of 
her hand. 44 Take care, you’ll upset me.” 

44 Didn’t you say my doll should be Seraphina, and 
lidn’t you have one of your own named so, when you 
.vere a little girl ? ” 

44 Yes,” said Marjorie, the sober shade coming over her 
17 


258 MARJORIE’S QUEST. 

face which always stole there when her childhood was 
mentioned. 

44 Posy is fond of high-sounding names,” said Dora, as 
Marjorie set down her plate before Captain Rex. 

“ Miss Daisy seems to have been, also,” said he, look- 
ing keenly at her as she stood beside him. 

44 Seraphina was the only doll I ever had that I can re- 
member,” said she, modestly. 

44 When you were very little ? ” said he, with a persist- 
ency that made Dora wonder. 

44 I don’t know. I beg your pardon,” becoming rosy 
red, and feeling strangely embarrassed under the steady 
gaze of his blue eyes ; 44 1 think I must have been very 
ill when I was a child, for I can remember so little of my- 
self at that time — the time when I had Seraphina.” 

44 1 suppose you had to depend on the recollection of 
older people,” said he, his heart beating faster, as every 
word she uttered seemed to bring his little playmate be- 
fore him. 

44 1 had not even that — I am an orphan,” she said, 
with a gentle dignity that closed the subject for the 
present. 

But he watched her, as she sat at her sewing in the 
window, a little out of the circle, but taking part in the 
conversation whenever she was appealed to, with a modest 
ease that was very charming contrasted with Dora’s airs. 
It was the same face he said to himself ; he knew now 
why Ins imperfect glimpses of it had haunted him. She 
did not remember him — how could that be accounted for 
— he wished that there was a piano here to try the effect 
pf playing the Prayer she had been so fond of. Perhaps 
she would recollect him when he got this bandage off ; he 
tugged at it impatiently as the thought crossed his mind 


CATO’S GUEST. 


259 


ftnd then called himself a fool for building such a mag* 
nilicent air-castle from what might be only a marvel- 
ously strong chance-resemblance. 

“ Li’le Missy Daisy, Chloe says will you please look at 
dem fritters,” said Cato, coming in waiter in hand, and 
evidently being about to lay the cloth for dinner. 

“ Fritters ? ” said Aunt Debby, looking up. u What 
is Chloe thinking about. Sit still, Daisy ; I’ll go.” 

4 4 Law’s, ’tain’t for Miss Debby,” said Cato, doggedly, 
44 It ’s sumpin’ for li’le missy, for sure, an Chloe won’t be 
no ways obligated for making nobody else go out in de 
kitchen.” 

44 Nonsense,” said Aunt Debby, 44 I’ll go and see.” 

But Cato did not follow her. 

44 If li’le missy pleases,” said he, with a beseeching 
glance at Marjorie, 44 dare ’s de yellow china, an ’de pink, 
and I dunno which looks bestis — would Missy Daisy 
come and see ? ” 

44 What ’s got into you, Cato,” said Dora, sharply, as 
Marjorie rose with a smile at the old man’s persistency. 
44 Like as not he ’s broken something and is afraid to tell 
grandma.” 

44 See here, missy,” said Cato, getting Marjorie safely 
into the dining-room, and peering carefully around to see 
that no one overheard him. 44 You’se ’cuse me for bring- 
in’ you way out hyar — I’se done tired waiting for a 
chance to speak to you.” 

44 What is the matter ? ” said Marjorie, kindly. Cato 
drew a step nearer, and said, in a frightened whisper. 

44 De young master in here isn’t de only Lincum soger 
iu dis yer place, missy. Cato hab one all tc his self, dow» 
ji his li’le cabin.” 

44 Another ? ” ejaculated Marjorie. 


260 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ Yes, missy. Bery strange man, Cato dunno what to 
do ’bout him. He come de night before las’ an’ he hab a 
fit, or sumpin’ dat kind, an’ frighten Cato and pore 
Cl’rinda mos’ to deff. Den he gets better, but he awfu] 
scared for fear ob de sogers. He talk kinder wild, like, 
an’ says every man’s hand is ag’inst him ; I tink he ’s not 
quite right hi de head. Cl’rinda an’ me, we ’s done puz- 
zled ; dunno what to do wid him, missy, no more dan de 
dead.” 

“ Can’t you get him away, Cato ? ” 

“ I’se afeard, missy. De rebels is roun’ bery fierce, I 
hear, an’ we ’s can’t turn de man into de hands ob de 
Philistines.” 

“Why don’t you ask Miss Debby?” said Marjorie. 
“ She can tell you a great deal better than I what to do.” 

“ I’se cornin’ to dat, missy. De soger he make Cato 
swar dat he not tell nobody ob his bein’ hyar, an’ Cato 
done promised — Can’t break his word. But las’ night, 
when li’le missy came down to Jim’s cabin to see ’bout de 
sick baby, de soger, lie seen missy as she was passing by. 
He mos’ had anuder fit. Says he, 4 Who dat girl — where 
she come from ? ’ — eyes mos’ starting out of his head. I 
tole him dat was Missy Daisy from de Norf, de gubber- 
nes3 to Massa Puck, and li’le Posy, an’ he ask all sorts ob 
questions ’bout you, missy. An’ he want to see you.” 

“ To see me ? ” echoed Marjorie, in great surprise. 
“ What should he want to see me for ? ” 

“ Dunno ; he mighty funny man, dat’s de trufe. He 
call Cato bery early dis morning, an’ he say dat I mus 
go and tell li’le missy dat she mus’ come an’ see ’im. 

Tell her dat I’ll make it worth de while,’ says he 
4 dat I can tell her ’bout her f adder.’ ” 

Marjorie started violently ; the blood rushed into het 
*ace in a crimson tide. 


CATO’S GUEST. 261 

“ My fat he? ! O, Cato, do you think he spoke the 
fcnith ? Do you think he knows ? ” 

“ How can I tell, missy?” said Cato, astonished at the 
effect of his message. “ He a mighty queer man — do 
debbil, I tink.” 

“ Was that what he said,” continued Marjorie, in great 
agitation, “ that he could tell me about my father ? ” 

“ For true, missy, dat’s what he say, two,t’ree times.” 

“ I’ll go,” said Marjorie, turning to the door. 

“ Stop, stop, missy ; you can’t go now. Mus’ wait and 
let Cato take you after tea ; mus’n’t let de oder niggas 
know dat Cato hab a man in de cabin to see li’le missy.” 

“ Well, then, Cato, I will wait” — 

“ An’ mus’n’t say nuffin to Miss Debby,” said Cato, 
hurriedly, as that lady appeared in the door with a demand 
whether dinner was not almost ready. 

Dora, underneath all her affectation, possessed a good 
deal of cunning and shrewdness, and she had not been 
more than half deceived with Aunt Debby’s account of 
the handsome stranger, who had come among them so un- 
expectedly. Grandma’s placid matter-of-course treatment 
of their guest did much toward laying her suspicions, but 
every now and then they would crop up again. Captain 
Rex’s military bearing and quick, decided manner was 
totally different from all the civilians that she had ever 
been, and she speedily settled it in her own mind that he 
had been in the army, whether he was now or not. And 
unconsciously, he gave her great offense by his apparent 
interest in Marjorie. Try, as he did, to keep the look of 
watchfulness out of his eyes whenever they rested on the 
little governess, he could not wholly banish it ; she was in 
his thoughts most of the time. Dora knew nothing of tho 
prob cm that he was trying to solve, and very naturally 


262 


Marjorie’s quest. 


concluded that he was bewitched with the dove-like eyes 
and the simplicity which Harry Peyton had also admired. 
And it made her very angry. Absurd as it may seem, 
she begrudged the passing admiration ; her vanity was so 
overweening that she was not willing to have a stray 
crumb fall to Marjorie’s share. 

Marjorie was strangely restless all that afternoon. 
Her cheeks glowed with unusual color, and there was a 
look of wistful expectancy in her face which Captain Rex 
took note of. He tried to draw her into a conversation, 
but the effort was futile until Dora left the room. Then, 
under one pretext or another, he contrived to lessen the 
shyness under which Marjorie had taken refuge, and with- 
out being conscious of it, she was beguiled into talking of 
her life in Philadelphia. The old charm began to exert 
itself ; Marjorie wondered why the pleasant voice seemed 
so dreamily familiar and whether she had ever heard one 
like it before. 

“Have you ever been in New York?” he asked, at 
last, after a pause. The situation of things was too 
pleasant to be disturbed; so Captain Rex asked the 
question merely for something to say. 

“ I have not been in New York for years,” she said, 
with a slight shudder which the recollection of old Moll 
always gave her. “ I never want to go there again.” 

“ Indeed ! May I ask you why ? ” he said, surprised. 

She clasped her hands against her breast with the ges- 
ture he remembered instantly. “ It is no secret. I was 
a poor little orphan in the streets of New York when 
Mrs. Randolph found me ; she has taken care of me and 
educated me, until now. I am taking care of myself at 
present,” said Marjorie, with a little prideful air that was 
pretty to see. “ I came down to Virginia as a governess 
and Puck and Posy are my first pupils.” 


CATO'S GUEST. 


268 


“ You deserve the greatest credit.” said he, warmly, 
with difficulty restraining himself from proclaiming his 
identity on the spot, so sure was he that he had found 
the child whom he had loved, in this young girl. 

She had only time to give him a glance of thanks ai d 
pleasure when Aunt Debby whisked into the room in 
manifest trepidation. 

“ Of all days in the year,” said she, in subdued tones, 
“of all days in the year to come; here’s the whole 
Peyton crowd coming up the avenue, and there ’s enough 
gold lace around to be a dozen rebel officers. Yes ; and 
as for you, Mr. King, you must have a bad turn and go 
to bed, for all I see. My stories may impose on Dora, 
but that cut head of yours is a tell-tale, if there ’s any 
soldiers in the way.” 

Captain Rex looked at the white faces before him and 
smiled. “ Don’t be frightened,” said he, calmly ; “ I 
am well enough to take to the swamps again at very 
short notice, but just now there does not seem to be even 
time enough for that.” 

“ Up the kitchen stairs, Daisy,” said Aunt Debby, giving 
him a shove in that direction. “ I’ll run up to Dora.” 

“ Dora ! ” That young lady faced about as Aunt 
Dcbby’s sharp voice saluted her ; “ that Peyton crowd 
are down-stairs and I guess they’ll stay to tea — anyway , 
they’ve a stranger or two with ’em. Mr. King ’s had a 
bad turn • he won’t be down, and there’ll be no need of 
an extra leaf in the table.” 

“ Mr. Kin^ — O ! He was well enough half an hour 
' ago,” said Dora, with a look that meant more than liei 
words. Aunt Debby marched straight up to her and 
took hold of her slender wrists with iron fingers. 

“Dora Lyndon, I see you think you’re wonderful 


264 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


sharp, but mind this ; you keep your tongue between 
your teeth before those friends of yours, and don’t prate 
about what doesn’t concern you.” 

The door slammed behind the irate spinster, but Dora 
shook one of her smarting wrists after the retreating 
figure and said under her breath, with vindictive empha- 
sis, “ I’ll pay you for that, ma’am, and in a way that 
you’ll never find me out, too.” 

Marjorie came down from escorting Captain Rex to his 
hiding place with a face rather paler than usual, and 
found the Peyton party making themselves at home on 
the piazza. In addition to the Peytons proper (who 
numbered five), there were two officers wearing the Con- 
federate uniform, and evidently belonging to the cavalry, 
which was also Harry Peyton’s arm of the service. 
Harry had mounted his uniform again, and was in high 
spirits, devoting himself more to Marjorie than was at all 
agreeable to her, and making Dora more angry than ever 
thereby. 

The strange officers were Captain Forsyth and Lieuten- 
ant Hayes, and the latter of these had, Marjorie thought, 
the most repelling countenance she ever had seen, with 
low brows and gleaming teeth, and cold, snaky-looking 
eyes, whose pale watery-blue color made her shiver. And 
her liking for the man by no means increased, when she 
learned, by the conversation at the tea-table that he was 
the commander of the mounted troop who were scouring 
the country for the spy whom she had heard Dora men 
tion a few days before. 

“ He ’s a pretty clever dodger,” said the Lieutenant, 
describing his unsuccessful hunt. u Twice we’ve come 
down upon a house just an hour or two after he ’s quitted 
it. He must have some way of getting around the 


CATO’S GUEST. 


265 


triggers,” — suppressing an oath just in rime, as he caught 
Aunt Debby’s eye lixed severely upon him ; “ but from 
information received to-day I think I’m safe in saying 
we can lay our hands on him shortly. He’ll swing for 
it,” added he, with a chuckle ; “ and my men will be 
ready enough to pull the rope in return for the dance he 
has led them.” 

“ Who is the unhappy man against whom your men 
have such a spite ? ” demanded Aunt Debby. 

“His name — or his alias — is Rogers. He has as 
many disguises as there are days in the week, and we 
have reason for thinking him a double-dyed traitor.” 

“ Is thee quite sure of all thee says, friend ? ” said 
Grandma Frost, mildly. “ I would counsel thee to mod- 
eration if thee finds the man.” 

Moderation was so unlikely a virtue, judging by Lieu- 
tenant Hayes’ ferocious countenance, that Belle and Dora 
giggled, and even Marjorie’s anxious face softened into 
a smile. 

From Cato’s furtive glances at the officers Marjorie 
saw that he was very uneasy, and she began to wonder 
how she should get away from the company and pay a 
visit to the prisoner in the cabin. Fortune favored her, 
and her chance came at last in the shape of Posy’s being 
sleepy. Puck and she, of late, had chosen to be put to 
bed by Marjorie instead of Silvy, and to-night she was 
very glad of the excuse which their fancy afforded her to 
leave the room. 

“ Come for me in the nursery as soon as it ’s safe,” 
ghe managed to say to Cato, as she went away. 

Both the little heads were safely on their respective 
pillows when there came a cautious tap, and Cato’s griz* 
Bled head came in at the door. 


266 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ All ready, missy ; Silvy’s cornin’ up to stay wdh do 
chil’en, an’ if you’se willin’ to go down do back-stairs we 
can get to de cabin in a jiffy. Better put on a cloak, or 
Bumpin’ ; don’t want nobody to see dat white dress, eh ? ” 

Marjorie agreed in the wisdom of Cato’s counsel, and 
wrapping herself in a plaid shawl of Aunt Debby’s which 
hung in the nursery closet, she followed Cato noiselessly 
down the stairs. 

“ Gi’ me your hand, missy ; I’se afraid you’ll stumble,” 
said Cato, and they went around the lower end of the 
house unobserved. Cato’s cabin was not very far away ; 
in former times the negro quarter of the Frost plantation 
had been well filled, but many of the slaves had been 
sold at the time of Reuben Frost’s death, and a large 
number of others had run away during the war, and now 
not more than five of the cabins were occupied. 

Into the largest of these Cato guided Marjorie. 

“ Dat you, daddy ? ” said a bright-eyed little darky, 
uncurling himself from the step where he had been asleep. 

“ What you doin’ out hyar, Sam ; run ’long to yer 
mammy an’ go to bed. Dis way, missy ' s Cl’rinda an’ 
me ’s bery glad to hab a call from you.” 

Bowing and scraping, Cato led Marjorie through the 
passage until Sam’s sharp eyes were out of range of their 
proceedings, and then he turned suddenly aside and gave 
a low tap on a small door at the left, speedily followed 
by two others. 

“It’s jest me, massa,” said he, sticking his head 
inside, with the utmost caution. “If de shutters is 
closed I’ll light de candle.” 

“ Is there any one with you ? ” said a suppressed whi» 
per from the farther corner of the room. 

“Li’le Missy Daisy, sar,” said Cato, as he struck 
match and set the lighted candle on the table. 



“ ‘ GENTLEMAN RODDY ! ’ ” 





















































I 




































CATO’S GUEST. 


267 


*i arjorie ^ooked eagerly toward the placB from whence 
the sound proceeded, and by the dim light she saw a pair 
of piercing dark eyes, set in a strangely pallid face, sur • 
mourned by long, curling masses of perfectly white hair 
which hung profusely about the man’s neck. She gave a 
step forward ; a single, low exclamation escaped her, — 

“ Gentleman Roddy ! ” 

If the face before her could have become whiter she 
would have said it grew so then as the man fairly jumped 
from his chair and approached her. 

“ Who called me that ? ” 

“ I did,” said Marjorie, recovering herself after her 
first fright. “ I remember you, although you do not 
seem to recollect me.” 

“ If missy pleases,” said Cato, interrupting them, “ I 
go an’ watch outside, with Cl’rinda. An’ don't stay too 
long, li’le missy, ’cause de folks might miss you.” 

“ Where did you ever know me by that name ? ” said 
the man, slowly, scanning every line of the face before 
him. 

“ Once, when I was a wretched, miserable little child, 
you doctored me in Randall’s Alley ; do you remember 
the child who lived with old Mother Moll ? ” 

“ By ” — exclaimed Gentleman Roddy, with a string 
cf oaths. “ Were you that child ? If I’d only known it 
then I’d” — he checked himself. It would hardly do to 
tell her that he thought he might have made more money 
out of her then than he could now. 

“ I want to thank you,” she said, gently. “ I suppose 
[ might have died if it had not been for you and Nancy, 
ind twice you saved me from a beating.” 

His face softened a little. 

“So you remembered that all th^ se years, child ? W ell, 


268 


marjorie’s quest. 


it ’s not many good deeds I’ve done in my life — I’m 
glad if there ’s one fit to be remembered. Well ! Have 
you no curiosity to know why I sent for you t >-night ? ” 

“You sent me word that you could tell me something 
of my father,” she burst out eagerly. “ O, sir, can you? 
It is the one hope of my life to find out where I came 
from, and who my father was.” 

He paused a moment ; he was calculating how far he 
might tell her what he knew. 

“ I’m in danger of my life ; at any moment those 
hounds may descend upon me. These people up at the 
house are friends (so the old negro says), and are not the 
kind to betray me. If you’ll send me to a safe hiding 
place, I’ll — tell you what I suspect is the truth about 
you.” 

“ But how can I ? ” said Marjorie, her lips quivering; 
• M I am a stranger here ; I know nothing of the country.” 

“Tell me what you know of your childhood,” said the 
ruffian, changing his tactics abruptly. 

“ Hardly anything, before the time when I was ill at 
old Moll’s. I remember my mother, and a ship which 
tossed about, and a man named Barney, who took care 
of me, and a gentleman with beautiful, kind eyes, who 
taught me a funny poem about Santa Claus - — O ! ” cried 
Marjorie, with pain quivering in every fine of her expres- 
sive face, “ if you know anything about me, I beg and 
pray you to tell me. Don’t be so cruel ! ” 

“You look like your mother ; that ’s the way I recog- 
nized you. A bargain ’s a bargain ; but before we strike 
one, just tell me how you came here.” 

“ Mrs. Randolph, a lady in Philadelphia, adopted me 
and her father, Mr. Clive, educated me.” 

Gentleman Roddy gave another exclamation “ DeL 


CATO’S GUEST 


269 


»em. is making a fool of me ! I had forgotten all about 
that night.” 

Marjorie looked perfectly bewildered, and then, sud- 
denly remembering what Cato had said about his visitor’s 
odd behavior, she turned pale. It would not be pleasant 
to be shut up in a room with a maniac. 

“ Didn’t you act in some tableaux at Mr. Clive’s awhile 
ago?” said her strange companion. “Well, I was 
there.” 

“ You?” 

“ Yes. You needn’t look so incredulous. When I’m 
dressed up, and have my wig on, I look like a gentleman. 
Miss — (never mind ; one of your Philadelphia girls) 
was very civil to Mr. Rogers that night.” 

“ Rogers,” said Marjorie, suddenly; “are you the man 
that Lieutenant Hayes is hunting for?” 

“ What do you know about it ? ” demanded he, seizing 
her by the wrist, fiercely. 

“ Nothing — let go my hand.” The door opened. 

“ Mos’ ready, li’le missy ? ” said Cato’s whisper. 

“In a moment,” said Gentleman Roddy. Then turn- 
ing to Marjorie, hurriedly 1 , — “ The case lies in a nutshell. 
You can, if you like, go up to the house and expose me 
to that officer you talk about. But if you do, I’ll not 
only die hard, but I swear I’ll die holding my tongue. 
On the other hand, if you’ll undertake to have me con- 
cealed for three days somewhere, at the end of that 
dme the pursuit will be over, and I am safe. If you’ll 
do this, I promise to give you intelligence of the man 
that I think is your father. Mind,” with a tardy sort 
of justice, as he looked at the delicate girl with whom he 
was driving such a hard bargain, “ I don’t say positively 
he is your father, for I can’t give the missing links hi 


270 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


several years ; but I think that I probably know yow 
parentage. I swear you are the living image of a lady 
that I suppose was your mother.” 

Marjorie wrung her hands. What could she do? 
“ I cannot do it alone,” she whispered, at last. “ If I 
can tell Miss Frost, she may think of a plan. Early to- 
morrow I will be here. Yes, Cato,” and casting a glance 
of pity at the spy, she joined Cato, and went swiftly 
back to the house. In her own room, kneeling by the 
window, her wet cheek pressed against the pane, Aunt 
Debby found the poor child, half an hour later. 

“ Bless my soul ! what ’s all this about ? ” said the en- 
ergetic spinster, as the light from the candle in her hand 
revealed the tear-stained face. “ Those precious folks are 
going, and I came up to make sure that our guest was all 
right. Who ’s been plaguing you ? ” 

“ O, Miss .Debby,” said Marjorie, with a great sigh. 
“ I am in such trouble. Tell me what to do.” 

Aunt Debby sat bolt upright, candle in hand, and lis- 
tened to the story of Cato’s visitor with a countenance 
expressive of many things. Marjorie poured it all out ; 
her longing and belief that she would eventually find 
her father, and the curious hiatus in her memory, which 
made her story sound so strangely improbable. 

“ It ’s a wonder to me why some people are permitted 
to live,” said Aunt Debby, indignantly. “ That man 
Rogers ought to be drowned in the frog-pond for his ras- 
cality. And yet, I don’t see but he ’s got the best of it. 
Let me see ” — then bringing both feet together with an 
energetic stamp — “ that ’s it ! I’ve thought of a plan 
The miserable creature shall go right down to Cousil 
Lemuel Hicks’ ; it ’s the safest place anywhere about for 
hiding. Many a nigger has got help from him lief ore 
now You needn’t cry one bit more, Daisy ; I’ll fix it.” 


CATO’S GUEST. 


271 


How ? ” said Marjorie, drawing freer breath, and feel- 
ing as if Aunt Debby was a full fledged angel, with an- 
gular cheek bones. 

“ W e’ll have to go along, for all I can see, to prevent 
suspicion — you and I and Posy. I’ll dress the man up 
in a Quaker suit of drab, and we’ll take Jim and the two- 
seated cart, and go down to Cousin Lemuel’s for two 
days.” 

“ What will be done with Captain ” — 

“ H-ush ! Better be careful ; the walls have ears ! 
I’ll leave him in Cato’s care. I don’t see how he can 
come to grief as long as we’ve tided him over to-night’s 
inroad ; I declare, my heart went up into my mouth, 
when I heard that scamp talking about hanging, at the 
tea-table. We’ll have to start the very first thing in the 
morning, Daisy ; it ’s thirteen miles to Cousin Lemuel’s, 
and up-hill. Hope we don’t run foul of any guerrillas 
on the way. But I must be off and get those Quaker 
clothes ; ten chances to one they won’t fit. Then I should 
give up.” 

The door closed after her, but she was back before it 
had hardly shut. 

“ Do you mind just tapping at that young fellow’s 
door, and seeing how he is ? And you might tell him 
that we are off by six o’clock in the morning — too early 
for him to be stirring. There ’s a bowl of egg-nogg on 
my table that will spoil if some one don’t drink it ; take 
j that, too.” 

Marjorie dried her eyes, and put a little cologne on her 
face to efface the traces of tears ; then went softly up the 
corridor, through Miss Debby’s room, to Captain Rex’s 
door. 

“ A friend,” said she, softly, as she tapped. The bolt 
tfas drawn in a moment. 


272 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ It ’s totally dark in here,” said he, aniling at her, as 
Bhe stood on the threshold. “ Am 1 at liberty to come 
out, or must I continue to play the sick man ? ” 

“ Take care ; they have not gone yet,” said she, hand- 
ing him the egg-nogg. “ Miss Debby said that some one 
must drink this up ! ” 

44 All of it ? ” said he, eying the bowl comically. 

44 If you please. We are going away to-morrow on a 
secret journey, — Miss Debby, Posy, and I, — and shall 
not be back for twenty-four hours. Cato will take care 
of you. There is another unlucky prisoner on the place 
beside yourself, and we propose to spirit him away.” 

44 Can’t I go, too ? ” said he, eagerly. 

She shook her head. 44 I’m afraid not. You are in no 
danger here, I hope. Good-by; wish us a speedy jour- 
ney.” 

“ I shall wish you a speedy return instead,” said Rex, 
taking the slender little hand in his, and remembering 
with an odd sensation how often he used to hold one but 
a trifle smaller, belonging to a certain gray-eyed child. 
“ Miss Daisy, I have something to tell you when you 
come back. May I ? ” 

The innocently surprised look she gave him ! 44 Why, 

yes — of course, I shall be glad to hear it,” she said, 
smiling up at him. 44 Please don’t let Puck bore you out- 
rageously while l am gone.” 

44 Good-night ! ” And Captain Rex bolted himself in 
again, with a head full of insane plans, which speedily 
became still more impracticable when converted into 
dreams. 

Perhaps Aunt Debby would not have congratulated 
herself so much on her management of Dora, could she 
Have heard a whispered conversation which that young 


CATO’S GUEST. 


273 


lady was carrying on with Harry Peyton, on the steps 
of the piazza, at the same time that her respected relative 
was on her knees in front of a chest, dragging out clothes. 

“ Harry,” said Dora, slipping her hand into his arm, 
“somehow, I don’t think our negro quarters are above 
reproach — in war-times, I mean.” 

“You don’t think they have any Federals hidden 
away ? ” said Harry, rather startled ; for Grandma Frost 
had so far been unmolested, chiefly owing to the Peyton 
influence. 

“ I can’t say. Cato and Jim have acted very queerly 
for a day or so,” said Dora, her heart throbbing guiltily 
at her treachery. “But I only thought — that if Lieu- 
tenant Hayes’ hunt was unsuccessful, he might look here. 
If he did it carefully, grandma wouldn’t ” — 

The lie actually stuck in Dora’s throat, and she was 
glad that Captain Forsyth’s presence at her elbow pre- 
vented anything further. She had said enough, however, 
and half an hour after, in the solitude of her own room, 
her momentary fit of revenge past, the unhappy girl 
would have given much to forget the act of which she 
had been guilty. 


U 


274 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE THREAD WHICH JUDGE GRAY HELD. 

RE you very much occupied, James ? The gentle* 



man says his business is urgent,” and Miss Rachei 
handed a card to Judge Gray, as he arose from his chair. 

She was the same Miss Rachel, and hardly looked a 
day older than when she waved her good-by to Marjorie 
from the door-step. The Judge’s hair was touched with 
silver, now ; the soft curls on his temples were almost 
white, but they only added to the beauty of his noble 
head and brow, and his hazel eyes wore the old, merry 
twinkle which haunted Marjorie, still. 

“ Mr. Percy Clive,” said he, looking at the card in his 
hand. “ Of course, Rachel. Ask him to walk in.” 

“I am very glad to see you, sir,” said Judge Gray 
heartily, shaking hands with his guest as he entered the 
study. “ I was just about writing to your brother ; ” he 
glanced at the several sheets upon his desk, “ and found 
it a more voluminous epistle than I had anticipated.” 

“ So he has written you ? ” said Percy Clive. “ Then 
it will hardly be necessary for me to explain my errand. 
And now, sir, what information can you give me of a 
child whom I almost begin to believe must be my little 
niece.” 

“ Marjorie did reside for a time in my family,” said 
Judge Gray, “ but for the last six or seven years, I have 
lost all trace of her, to my infinite regret.” And then in 
succinct terms he gave Mr. Clive the outline of Marjorie’s 
history, her residence at the Asylum, and her adoption by 


THE THREAD WHICH JUDGE GRAY HELD. 


276 


Mrs. W ylder, together with her mysterious disappearance. 
“I have here,” said Judge Gray, unlocking a drawer of 
his secretary, “ the letters which Barney Brian gave me, 
and heie is the note which I received from Barry & Wil- 
liams in answer to a letter of mine asking for informa- 
tion in regard to the parties mentioned in these.” 

Percy Clive gave a surprised exclamation. “ That is 
my brother’s handwriting, beyond a doubt,” said he, tak- 
ing up the letter which began “ My dear Father,” “ and 
his wife’s name was Madeline Hervd, a French girl, from 
Marseilles. He met her there on his return from a trip 
to China, and, from all I can learn, her family were as 
much opposed to the marriage as we were, although we 
knew nothing of it until after it was done ; it was a run- 
away match. 

“ George was my father’s favorite son, and his rage was 
fearful when he learned of the marriage. I do not know 
what Father wrote to my brother, but, judging from that 
letter (which is evidently a copy of one sent to my 
father), it must have been something too hard for George 
to agree to. Poor fellow, he suffered terribly while in 
England. His efforts to support his wife and child were 
unavailing, and he came to New York to make a last 
appeal to Father, leaving them in London. Upon his ar- 
rival here he was taken dangerously ill at my house, and 
I supplied Rodman (then in our employ) with money to 
forward to Mrs. Clive. She, we now conclude, hearing 
nothing from her husband, took passage for this country 
under an assumed name, and George has never been able 
to tiace her until now.” 

“ Rodman seems tr be the person to lay hold of,” said 
Judge Gray. “ Have you lost all trace of him ? ” 

“ Entirely. He had a drunken bout just at that time, 


276 marjorie’s quest. 

and it now seems to me that he took his dismissal very 
quietly.” 

“ He had possessed himself of the funds intended for 
Mrs. Clive, probably,” said Judge Gray. 

“ By George ! That never struck me before,” cried 
Percy Clive. “ Of course he did, the scoundrel ! What 
shall we do ? Advertise for him ? ” 

“ Certainly, and for any information of him.” 

44 It seems sad,” said Percy Clive, meditatively, 44 that 
we should find the child only to lose her : I suppose you 
have given up all idea of ever finding her now ? ” 

44 1 had,” said Judge Gray, with a curious twinkle of 
his eyes, 44 until yesterday.” 

44 Yesterday ! ” echoed Mr. Clive, starting out of his 
chair. 44 You don’t mean, my dear sir, that you have 
actually gotten hold of a clew to her ? ” 

44 It looks very much like it,” said the Judge, smiling 
brightly. 44 1 received a note from Mr. Wylder saying 
that, in a very strange way, a little intelligence of Mar- 
jorie had reached him. He says that the detective to 
whom he gave the case in charge had called at his office 
to say that last week a woman, calling herself Nancy 
O’Flaherty, had been to the station of which he is chief 
to visit a drunken old woman who was dying there, she 
having been injured in a street brawl. The detective was 
in the room during the interview, and said that Nancy’s 
chief object in coming to see the woman seemed to be to 
get her to confess something in regard to a child that had 
been kidnapped. The man evidently pricked up his ears 
at that (Mr. Wylder’s large rewards have been kept 
»pen ever since the child was lost), and he began to ques- 
tion both women.” 

44 Old Moll,” continued Judge Gray, referring to th# 


THE THREAD WHICH JUDGE GRAY HELD. 


277 


etter which he held in his hand, “ persisted for some time 
that she knew nothing about it ; but finally, feeling that 
she had not long to live, she confessed that she had picked 
the child up in the area of a large brown house in Thirty- 
Fifth Street between Fifth and Madison Avenues. And 
that,” laying down the letter, “ is the precise location of 
Mr. Wylder’s house.” 

“ And where is the child now ? ” asked Mr. Clive. 

“Mr. Wylder cannot inform me. He went with the 
detective to see the woman called Nancy, and was told by 
her that the little girl had been taken away from New 
York by a rich lady and gentleman who had found her in 
the street. She could not give the name of these people, 
but said that they left a card with her requesting her to 
send any information which she might gather from the 
old hag, to a firm in John Street.” 

“ Pray go on, sir ! ” cried Mr. Clive, as Judge Gray 
paused and looked keenly at him. 

“ And that some time after, she found a string of gold 
beads hidden in the mattress ” — 

“ By Jove ! ” This time Percy Clive was fairly on his 
feet, trembling with excitement. “You — you don’t 
mean it ? ” cried he. “ It ’s stranger than the strang- 
est romance I ever read. Firm, si" ! the woman brought 
those gold beads to me. The card was left with her by 
my elder brother, Selden, and the beads belong to a child 
whom he adopted. And if it ’s really the same child — 
there she ’s been under my very hand all these years.” 

It was Judge Gray’s turn to utter an exclamation : 
“Thank God!” The firm lips trembled, and the kind 
hazel eyes grew moist. “ How delighted Rex will be ! ” 
mis his next remark, intended more for himself than his 
hearer. “ My son,” said he, answering Mr. ClAe’s inquire 


278 


Marjorie’s quest. 


ing face. “ He was very fond of little Marjorie, and haa 
never wholly given up hope of finding her. The child 
was devoted to him ; I believe it nearly broke her heart to 
go away. She went while Rex was very ill, and he never 
saw her again.” 

“ Your son is in the army, is he not ? ” said Mr. Clive. 
“ Was he the Captain Gray whose gallant conduct is 
mentioned in one of Sheridan’s last dispatches ? ” 

“ He is, sir,” said the Judge, pride in his brave boy 
written on every line of his speaking face. 

“ I congratulate you; you may well rejoice in such a 
son,” said the other gentleman, heartily. “ But I cannot 
quite realize this amazing information about my brother’s 
child. It is almost too good to be true. And how can 
we prove it ? ” 

“ It is very singular that I should have asked Mr. S el- 
den Clive for information of this very Rodman,” said 
Judge Gray. “ That was just at the time of Marjorie’s 
disappearance. Do you happen to know at what time 
your brother found her ? ” 

“ It was during the October of 185-,” said Mr. Clive, 
after thinking a few moments. “ My dear sir, I do not 
see but that we shall have to add to our very great 
obligations to you by asking you to take a trip to Phila- 
delphia. A recognition of you would be a strong proof 
of the identity of this young girl. I have never happened 
to see her, but I have heard my niece, Mrs. Randolph, 
talk of her. Could you take a trip on with me (stopping 
in New York to see your friend Wylder, the woman 
Nancy, and the detective), and pay a visit to my broth- 
er? I will not write to George until we can say we 
have found his child.” 

fc4 1 would go if I had more business than usual on 


THE THREA1 WHICH JUDGE GRAY HELD. 


279 


my hands, which luckily is not the case,” said Judge 
Gray warmly. 44 I love all children, but little Marjorie 
was peculiarly dear to me. I can be ready to leave 
to-morrow, and, in the mean time, permit me to send to 
the hotel for your luggage. Nay, I insist,” ringing the 
bell as he spoke. 44 And now let me take you into the 
library and introduce you to my sister. I only wish that 
Rex was at home ; he has Marjorie’s little bracelet (the 
one she wore when she strayed with her mother into 
Wynn), and I cannot get that until I can communicate 
with him.” 

Miss Rachel was very much amazed at the strange 
Btory which she heard from her brother, so much amazed 
that she put salt instead of sugar into the tea she was 
making, and never discovered her mistake until Judge 
Gray made a comical face and asked if she meant to 
poison him. 

After supper, she bethought herself of the broch6 
shawl, and taking her keys went up to one of her cam 
phor chests, where she found it, just as she had laid it 
away six years before. Mr. Clive looked at it with 
great interest, and listened eagerly to the story of how 



; December morning, and how she travelled all the way 
to Saybrooke on Judge Gray’s knee, wrapped up in his 
long cloak. 

“ There goes an 4 extra,”’ said Judge Giay, at last, 
as a shrill cry came through the open window, — 

44 ’Nother battle ! Two thousand killed and wounded ! 
Fhil Sheridan on the war-path ! ” 

44 Here, boy ! ” Judge Gray’s face was a shade paler, 
0 ls he tossed some pennies to the newsboy ; and he cam* 
*ver to the centre table and opened the extra carefully* 


280 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ Battle at Opequan Creek,” said lie. “ Partial re- 
turns,” running his eye over the list before reading more. 
“ Lieutenant Raymond, killed. Major Bascom, severely 
wounded. Captain Reginald Gray, missing ! ” 

The handsome face grew ghastly white ; he laid down 
the paper with a firm hand. 

“ Rachel, have my small bag packed instantly. There 
are just thirty-five minutes to spare before the midnight 
express leaves for New York. Mr. Clive, you will make 
yourself quite at home here. I shall go direct to Wash 
ington and procure a pass to go into Sheridan’s fines ; 
I must find my boy.” 

“ My plans are susceptible of change likewise,” said 
Mr. Clive, his face expressing the sympathy which he 
did not feel that his short acquaintance would warrant 
him in offering. “ I will go with you as far as my own 
home, at all' events. I can go to Philadelphia the next 
day ; when you find Captain Gray, safe and sound, I shall 
depend upon seeing you at my brother’s.” 

Miss Rachel had the bag ready in a few moments, and 
the gentlemen bade her good-by, and hurried away, only 
stopping at Mrs. Livingston’s to tell poor grandma that 
“her boy ” was reported missing. Judge Gray spoke as 
cheerfully as he could, but grandma’s heart went down, 
down, with a thud as if it would never come up again 
into its place, and when Meta came in, an hour later 
very pale and sorrowful, over the news, she found grandma 
had all but buried Regie, and had much ado to prevent 
her from sending a mourning order to the dress-maker, 
by way of being “ prepared.” 

Perhaps some of the eyes who are reading Marjorie’s 
story may have known, from all too sad experience, what 
such a journey was to Judge Gray as the one he took 


THE THREAD WHICH JUDGE GRAY HELD. 


281 


Mien. Travelling day and niglit, getting the papers and 
“extras” at every stage, with a heart sinking bitterly 
one instant, and trying to convince itself that it hoped the 
next; the alternative — dead, or in a Southern prison. 
The horrors of Andersonville, Belle Isle, and the Libby 
had made thousands of hearts ache with bitter pain , 
Judge Gray felt as if he could better endure to see his 
gallant son laid dead at his feet, killed by a merciful 
bullet, than to know that he was dying by inches, wast- 
ing his brave life away in a torture-pen. There were 
more silver threads among the black curls, when he at last 
reached Washington. There was considerable red tape 
still to be overcome (even at that late day of the war), 
and another long day travelled by before Judge Gray 
(through the influence of high officials) was on his way 
to the Virginia Valley where the nation’s eyes were 
turned to watch gallant Phil Sheridan’s struggle with 
the foe. And the delays were too numerous to be cata- 
logued ; indeed, they seemed to multiply as he went on. 

General Sheridan had again met the enemy and won a 
battle at Fisher’s Hill when Judge Gray reached his 
head-quarters. The new camp was a scene of most in- 
tense activity, and with great difficulty the Judge gained 
access to the busy commander. 

He was met, however, with the blunt cordiality for 
which the soldier was famous, and as soon as the General 
learned the errand upon which his visitor had come, he 
offered him every facility in his power for gaining infor- 
mation, promising that next day a mounted guard should 
go with him as far into the country as was safe, now that 
Mosby’s guerrillas had become so troublesome. 

And with this assurance Judge Gray was fain to rest 
contented until daybreak, with the earliest gleam of 
which he intended to begin his search. 


282 


marjorie’s quest. 


CHAPTER XXL 

HOW PUCK KEPT HIS PROMISE. 

T3UCK sat on the doorstep of the west pari)r, looking 
out over the grass with a meditative face. Inside, 
Captain Rex was reading “ Hamlet ” to Dora and grand- 
ma, and they had been having quite a cozy morning of 
it. He read beautifully, and Dora sat listening to the 
clear, full voice, with a certain guiltiness which made her 
loth to meet the reader’s eye. Puck had been unusually 
quiet, for him. He liked the reading, and had been 
much impressed with the grave-digger’s conversation, and 
coaxed to hear it over again, “ ’Cause you see I’m lone- 
some withqut Posy,” said he, “an’ mus’ have some 
amoosement. Recweation was what Miss Daisy called 
it when I asked why she an’ Aunt Debby went to see 
Cousin Lemuel.” 

Captain Rex laughed, but good-naturedly reread part 
of the scene for Puck, and then laid down the book to 
hold a skein of worsted for Dora. Puck sat and pon- 
dered for some moments, until a violent squacking in the 
direction of Cato’s hen-coops reminded him that there 
might be a slaughter of chickens for dinner going on ; so 
off he started to assist. He got there somewhat late, 
however, for Cato was in the act of dangling a fat gander 
in the air when Puck strolled up. 

“Jus’ killed de ole gander,” said Cato. “ ’Member de 
day him run after you and Missy Posy, eh ? He make 
one bery good meal after Chloe hab hi n in de o\en, I 
reckon.” 


HOW PUCK KEPT HIS 1 ROMISE. 


283 


“ I’ll help you pick off the feathers, Cato,” said Puck, 
eagerly. “ Think there’ll be enough for gwandma to 
tnake me a bwan new pillow ? Aunt Debby won’t let me 
have but one, an’ Posy ’s is ever so much bigger than 
mine ; I’m the oldest, too.” 

“ Always ought to gib de best to your li’le sister,” said 
Cato, sagely. “ Come ’long into de wash’us, massa, and 
you’ll see how many fedders we’ll hab.” 

Puck went with such alacrity that he upset the pan of 
hot water, and very narrowly escaped scalding his little 
toes, and his exclamations of pain brought Chloe out to 
see what was the matter. She scolded them both, and 
added considerably to the commotion, but then a commo- 
tion was pretty certain to accompany Puck’s movements 
under any circumstances ; so Dora (when the distant 
sound thereof reached her ears) only shrugged her pretty 
shoulders and opined that the raging elements would set- 
tle themselves somehow without her assistance, and went 
on tranquilly with her flirtation with Captain Rex. That 
gentleman, as has before been said, was intensely curious 
about the history of the little governess, and he endeav- 
ored to beguile Dora into telling him something of it. 
But, unfortunately for him, Dora knew but little ; Aunt 
Debby was the only person to whom Marjorie had con- 
fided anything of importance. But she made the best of 
what she did know, and gave Captain Rex a little sketch 
of Marjorie’s adoption by Mrs. Randolph, and her subse- 
quent attendance of Mrs. Moulton’s school, from whence 
the had come to them. Altogether it was a very pleas- 
ant morning. Grandma took her part in the conversa- 
tion, and told some stnies of Philadelphia in the olden 
rime which delighted Rex. He smiled as he thought how 
bis father would admire her, and fell to wondering if 


284 


marjorie’s quest. 


wlien this cruel war was over,” he would ever bring 
Judge Gray down into Virginia to see this beautiful old 
Quakeress. So the morning sped away, and they were 
quite surprised when Cato came to call them to dinner. 
The smoking-hot goose, stuffed to its utmost capacity, sat 
erect before grandma’s plate ; in its bed of green pars- 
ley it looked sufficiently appetizing to make Rex feel 
hungry, and he said so, glancing laughingly at Puck’s rapt 
countenance, as he sat with folded hands, gazing compla- 
cently at the fowl. Grandma put the fork into the 
goose’s plump, brown breast, and, roused from his reflec- 
tions by the movement, Puck gave the company the ben- 
efit of them in this wise, — 

“ Alas, poor gander ! ” quoth he, heaving a sigh, as he 
looked gravely toward Mrs. Frost, “ X knew him well, 
gwandma, a fellow of infinite squack /” 1 

The shout of merriment that went up from the elders ! 
Grandma laughed until the tears fairly stood in her eyes, 
and had to delegate the carving to Captain Rex, who de- 
clared that Puck’s Shakespearean studies would be some- 
thing marvelous if he went on at this rate. Puck, not 
quite comprehending what they were all laughing about, 
beamed serenely at them from his high chair, and helped 
himself largely to apple-sauce, spilling it plentifully on 
the table-cloth in the transit. 

M Thee sees the gander was terribly noisy,” said grand- 
ma, when she had finished laughing. “ I never did see 
such a bird.” 

“ He must be a lineal descendant of the geese who 
taved Rome,” said Rex. “ Here ’s the wish-bone for you 
Puck. Yon had better keep it until Posy gets home 

1 The above witty paraphrase was actually '.nade by a child of Puck's age u 
Jie author’s family. 


HOW PL' CK KEPT HIS PROMISE. 


285 


Aftei you’ve broken it, you can give it to me as a tro- 

phy-” 

“ What ’s a twophy ? ” said Puck. 

“ A trophy — what shall I say to make myself intelli- 
gible ? ” said Rex, appealing to Dora. But his further 
explanation was prevented by the sudden appearance of 
Joe, Cato’s son, who came running in with a face as 
ghastly as it was possible for a frightened darky’s to be. 

O, Missis — O ! ” gasped the boy, coming close to 
Mrs. Frost’s side. u Dar ’s a lot of sogers cornin’ — gray 
fellers. Li’le Sam heerd ’em talking down in the corner 
field, an’ dey say dat de spy am at Mistis Frost’s, and 
dey ’s boun’ to catch him now for sure ! ” 

Dora’s face turned white as marble. Captain Rex 
sprang to his feet. 

“ Do not be alarmed,” said he to the old lady. “ I 
must escape if I can, and Cato will see to that.” 

Mrs. Frost drew herself up erect. “ Wait, friend,” 
raising her hand ; “ thee is not safe inside the house, for 
if they have come to search, they will do it thoroughly. 
Thee has five minutes — no more. Cato, take him and 
hide him inside the largest hay-cock which is stacked by 
the barn. Young man, be not afraid for us ; the Lord 
takes care of his people.” 

Rex paused one brief second to raise the aged hand to 
Vis lips reverently, and then followed Cato’s hobbling 
steps to the hay-cock, and crawled inside the aperture. It 
was his only chance, and he felt it to be a slight one, as 
there was no doubt but that the guerrillas would pounce 
directly upon his hiding-nlace, unless something miracu- 
ous interposed. Cato packed the hay up loosely, leaving 
a hole or two for the prisoner to breathe, and then went 
back to the house as fast as his legs could carry him, get 


286 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


ting behind his mistress’s chair, waiter in hand, just as 
the cavalry dashed up to the door. 

In the mean time, Dora had removed Captain RexV 
plate from the table, and, discovering that Puck was 
missing, pulled his high chair away, and sat down, think- 
ing, “ Well, if I say nothing, the child will probably tell. 
I wish my tongue had been bitten out before I said a 
word to Harry.” 

Wishes of that kind were useless now, and her heart 
sank as she heard the officer outside give orders to sur- 
round the house, adding that half the party might go 
down to the negroes’ cabins. 

“ Why, Lieutenant Hayes ! ” exclaimed Dora, as that 
gentleman made his appearance in the door of the apart- 
ment, “ where in the world do you come from ? ” 

“ It strikes me, friend, that thee is taking liberties with 
my dwelling,” said grandma, looking at the men who ap- 
peared behind the Lieutenant. 

“ Beg pardon, ma’am,” said Hayes, recollecting himself 
and doffing his hat. “You see, you’ll have to excuse 
us.” 

“ Thee has left me no choice,” said grandma, quietly. 

“ W e’ve had certain information that the spy, Rogers, 
who I was talking about last night, has been here, or is 
here now, and I shall have to search the premises. Not 
that I suppose the man to be in the house, Miss Lyndon,” 
added he, “ but there ’s no telling what these niggers will 
be up to. This old fellow looks as if he could tell me 
something,” wheeling about suddenly and confronting 
Cato. 

“ Me ? Laws, massa, dis chile don’t know nuffin, ug 
more an’ the dead,” said Cato, with an aggravatingly 
ttoeent countenance. 


HOW PUCK KEPT HIS PROMISE. 


287 


u You don’t, eh ? By the way,” glancing suspiciously 
wound the room, “ where ’s the rest of the family — Miss 
Debby and that pretty white-faced Northerner?” 

“ They have gone to visit a relative,” said Dora, coldly . 

Lieutenant Hayes had evidently been drinking, and 
his manner bordered upon familiarity. For once a Con- 
federate was distasteful to her. 

“Quite sure?” said he, laughing coarsely. “Well, 
ma’am,” to Mrs. Frost, “ can my men go up-stairs ? I 
told Peyton that everything should be done amiably, with 
regard to your feelings.” 

“ I am obliged to thee,” said grandma, ironically, as 
she moved back from the table and took her knitting out 
of her pocket. “ Cato, thee can go with these persons, 
and show them that I harbor no spy in my household. 
Sit down and cool thyself,” added she, looking gravely at 
the red face of the officer. 

“ Thank you, ma’am ; I shall have to go and look after 
my men,” and the Lieutenant disappeared up the stairs. 

Dora and grandma exchanged glances. 

“ Where is Puck ? ” said the latter knitting on in an 
unmoved way that drove Dora frantic. 

“ I’m sure I don’t know. Like as not he’ll ” — Dora's 
sentence was checked in her throat by the appearance of a 
gray uniform in the door, the owner of which, having 
' poked in his head and stared stupidly around, followed 
j the others up-stairs. 

It is time to return to Puck. In the fright which th« 
| sudden intelligence of the arrival of the Confederates had 
j occasioned, that young gentleman slipped down from his 
perch at the table, and, accompanied by Blot, followed 
Cato and Captain Rex to the hay-stack. Cato, in his 
; uixiety to get back to the house, never saw the child 


288 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


(Puck dodged him around the hay-stack with infinite 
strategy) ; and five seconds after Cato’s departure, Cap- 
tain Rex was electrified by a small voice outside his hiding 
place which said, triumphantly, — 

“ Don’t you be ’fraid! we’re here — Blot and me — an 
we know how to keep our pwomise.” 

There was nothing for it but to lie perfectly still, and 
hope that Master Puck’s courage would not be put to the 
test, but Rex’s heart did give a tremendous thump against 
his ribs when he recognized by the sounds that the party 
had come out of the house and were making straight for 
the barn. 

“ Hello ! youngster, what yer doin’ ? ” demanded a 
coarse voice, as the speaker, a soldier in a sergeant’s uni- 
form, came leisurely toward him. 

“ How d’ye do ? ” said Puck, politely. “ Makin’ my 
dog beg. Speak, Blot ! ” 

Blot “ spoke ” to some purpose, for he gave a quick 
bark, and made a dive at the soldier’s trousers, out of 
which he cleverly bit a good sized piece. Blot’s Union 
proclivities were evident. 

“ Blast the dog ! ” shouted the man, attempting to kick 
the little Skye. Blot dodged, and the rest of the party 
gave a loud guffaw. 

The search of the house had not occupied much time, 
although it was a pretty effectual one ; the men hunting 
\n every imaginable spot, and making Chloe furious by 
upsetting her barrel of soft soap, which, under Miss 
Debby’s supervision she had just made ; “ jes as if dere 
was any ole spy hid away in my soap ! ” sniffled she, fling- 
ing her dish-cloth after the retreating figures. Then the 
party ransacked the out-houses, and now were scattered 


HOW PUCK KEPT HIS PROMISE. 


289 


into the various cabins, both occupied and unoccupied, 
fina ly coming to the barns, and Puck. 

“ I’ll bet these people can tell something about 

that confounded spy,” grumbled the sergeant, as he rolled 
a quid of tobacco under his tongue. 

“ I say, younker, tell me ef you’ve seen any man round 
these cabins ? ” 

“ Man ? ” said Puck, meditatively ; “ yes.” 

“ When ? ” shouted the chorus, as the men crowded up. 

“ Last night,” said Puck, mischievously, but looking 
as solemn as Blot him self. 

“ What did he look like ? ” 

“ He had gway hair ” — 

“ That ’s not him ! ” 

“ An’ hobbled.” 

“ Ever seen him afore ? ” asked the soldiers. 

“ Yes ; good many times. There he comes,” said Puck, 
pointing with his finger. The entire party wheeled about 
— there stood Cato ! 

“ You young limb, I’ll fix you,” roared the irascible 
sergeant, making a stride toward him. “ You’d better 
tell us what you know. I’ll bet you know somethin’.” 

“ Don’t hurt my dog,” said Puck, suddenly, as the man, 
by a skillful flank movement, captured that small animal, 
gud picked him up roughly. 

“ Little beast ! Bite my trousers, eh ? ” and down came 
a blow on Blot’s head which made him howl pitifully. 

P’raps you’ll make a fool of Bill Stykes,” said that 
personage, addressing Puck. “You don’t git yer dog 
| until yer answers a fair question. Hain’t yer had a spy 
— a Yankee, here lately ? ” 

“ What ’s a spy ? ” sail Puck sharply. 

19 


290 


Marjorie’s quest. 


“Lord, you’re a smart one,” said another of the group. 
“ H ain’t you had a stranger stayin’ here ? ” 

Now as long as Puck could evade the question he felt 
quite easy, but he was a remarkably truthful child. Un- 
der no circumstances had he ever been guilty of a lie ; 
what would Posy say if he told one now ? W ouldn’t 
the sky fall on his head ? Puck wasn’t quite sure, but 
he felt as if there was a probability of it, so he turned a 
little pale and lifted his blue eyes. 

“ Yes,” said he boldly. “ Please give me my dog.” 

‘ Thar ! ” cried the triumphant sergeant. 

“ Li’le massa dunno what him sayin’,” said Cato, fright- 
ened pretty nearly to death. “ He ’s thinking of Friend 
Hicks who was here couple days ago.” 

“ Hold your tongue,” said Sergeant S tykes, dealing 
him a cuff which made his eyes water. “ Well, younker, 
go ahead.” 

“ Haven’t got anything more to say,” said Puck. 
“ Poor Blot ! lie still, sir.” 

“ I’ll tell yer what,” said the rebel, now fully roused 
by his companions’ laughter, and determined not to be 
baffled by a sturdy child of eight or nine years ; “ ef you 
don’t tell me what you know t’ll be the worse for you. 
There was a stranger hyar ? Whar ’s he gone ? ” 

“ Isha’ri’t tell,” said Puck, defiantly, stuffing his chubby 
hands into his pockets, and looking straight at the en- 
raged sergeant. 

“ What ’s all this about ? ” said Lieutenant Hayes, 
appearing on the scene. The soldiers told him in a few 
words. 

“ There ’s a good boy; you’ll tell me where the ma® 
is ? ” said the officer, in what he imagined were persuasive 
accents, but which made Puck shrink away. “ You’re 
a nice little fellow, and don’t like Yankees.” 


HOW PUCK KEPT HIS PROMISE. 


291 


“ You made a mistook,” said Puck coolly ; “ mos’ vish 
t was a Yankee my own self. Aunt Debby is. We ain’t 
webels in this house ; ” one of his aunt’s thanksgivings 
on that score returning to his mind at this inopportune 
moment. 

“ The deuce you ain’t ! ” cried the Confederate officer, 
in a rage, in his turn, but hot daring to strike the child, as 
Harry Peyton had told him to be careful not to misuse 
the famPy. “ We’ll see, my fine fellow. Bill,” to the 
Bergeant, “if he won’t tell what he knows, just take a 
rope and hang his dog ! ” 

Puck did not believe they would do anything of the 
» kind, so he stood in stupefied amazement watching the 
soldier, who drew a halter out of his pocket and began to 
l tie a slip knot around poor Blot’s neck. “ Just hang him 
over the limb of that tree,” said the lieutenant, with an 
evil look, pointing to one which stood near them. “ Now, 
boy, tell, or up he goes ! ” 

“ O, massa, don’t hurt li’le Blot ; he bery good dog,” 
cried Cato ; “ Puck bery fond of him — bery ! ” 

“ I’ll give you one minute,” said the officer to Puck. 

“ I pwomised ,” said Puck, gulping down a lump in his 
little throat, “ an’ I never bweak my word. Blot ! O, 
Blot ! my dear, dear dog.” 

The hay-stack behind the excited party shook omi- 
nously, but they were too much occupied to notice it. 

“ Up with him,” ordered Hayes. The sergeant gave 
the rope a pull ; Blot kicked convulsively ; his eyes turned 
upon his little master ; he tried to bark — 

Puck shut his eyes. 

“ Cut down that dog,” thundered an indignant voice, 
its a tall figure shot past Cato. The amiable Bill Stykea 
tet gc the rope in sheer surprise; it loosened suddenly, 


292 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


and Blot fell to the ground. “ As for you, sir, you axe a 
fiend incarnate,” and Captain Rex gave Hayes a blow 
which made him blind and deaf for some seconds, and 
laid him flat on the road several yards distant. 

“ De Lord hab mercy ! ” cried Cato, wringing his 
hands, as the men crowded around Rex and captured 
him by mere force of numbers. “ O, massa, dey’ll kill 
you for sure ! ” 

Hayes gathered himself up slowly and approached his 
prisoner. Rex threw back his head, and his most dis- 
dainful smile ccrved his short upper lip, as he fixed his 
blue eyes on the Confederate. 

“ You’ll swing for that,” was Hayes’ significant remark 
as he shook his fist in his face. “ Fool ! If you hadn’t 
had such an awful amount of sympathy for a dog, you 
might have escaped.” 

Puck looked up from the ground where he sat with his 
rescued pet in his arms, the tears which his tormentors 
had not been able to bring, pouring down his cheeks. 

“ You’re a bwave, bwave soldier,” cried he, between 
his sobs, “ an’ I wish I was like you, an’ a Yankee ! I 
wouldn’t be a nasty, howid webel ; I hate ’em ! ” and he 
Bhook his chubby fist passionately at the men. 

“ Puck,” Captain Rex’s eyes filled, and his clear voice 
was a trifle husky, u you’re a hero ! Whatever happens 
to me, tell your Aunt Debby that I said so. I wish I 
jould tell the boys at the North how you keep a prom- 
ise.” 

Grandma and Dora were on the piazza as the party 
drew near, Cato and Puck bringing up the rear, and 
Blot panting painfully in his little master’s arms. 

“ We’ve got him,” said Hayes, triumphantly. 

“ Friend,” said grandma, “ bring that young man 
here.” 


HOW PUCK KEPT HIS PROMISE. 


293 


Hayes hesitated, but finally remembering the Peytons, 
ae motioned to his men to bring up the prisoner. 

u Does thee mean to tell me that he is a spy ? ” said 
grandma, turning her clear eyes from captor to prisoner. 

“ Reckon he’ll swing for one,” said Hayes, grimly. 

“ Where art thou going with him ? ” said grandma, 
j maintaining her calm demeanor with difficulty. 

u Into Early’s camp. He’ll be tried by drumhead 
court-martial in twenty-four hours, and shot, or hanged, 
I don’t care which,” said Hayes, with a brutal smile. 

“ Man ! ” said the old lady, “ I know not which to 
; admire most, thy malice or thy inhuman brutality.” 

“ I am sorry to have brought this upon you,” said Rex, 
interposing. “ If I live, you shall hear from me again, 
and — if I die, give me your prayers.” 

“ Thou hast them,” said the gentle Quakeress, her eyes 
full of tears, through which she saw the handsome face of 
the prisoner but dimly. u The God of thy Puritan 
fathers bless thee, young man.” 

Hayes burst in with a string of oaths, in which he 
cursed the Puritans from the Mayflower down, the Fed- 
i eral Government, and the Stars and Stripes. 

“ Go out of my doors,” said grandma, rising suddenly, 
camal-mindedness getting the better of her Quaker train- 
ing, at this insult. “ I wonder my roof does not fall and 
crush thee. Abuse me , man, if thou wilt ; my old head 
will soon lie on its earthy pillow ; but dare not to curse 
and swear at the country of the Puritans, or to defile my 
i flag while my feeble voice can be uplifted in reply.” 

The beautiful old eyes flashed, the aged form trembled 
with emotion ; without a word, the man turned on his 
: heel and slunk down the steps. Grandma and Barbara 
Freitcli ie would assuredly have shaken hands. 


294 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


Dora stood at the steps as Rex went down them. 
“ Good-by,” he said, smiling bravely. “ Kiss me, Puck ; 
tell Miss Daisy not to forget ” — he stopped. How 
could a message avail now, he thought, with a sudden 
pang. They mounted him between two troopers, and in 
another moment the party were dashing down the avenue 
at full speed. A farewell nod from Rex, and they were 
gone. 

“ He saved my dear, dear Blot,” sobbed poor Puck, 
creeping to his grandmother’s feet with a broken-hearted 
wail. “ An’ he said I was a hewo , an’ I’ll love him all 
my life ! He ’s better ’n Joshua an’ Saul, an’ David, all 
put together — there ! ” And with his face buried in 
Blot’s neck, Puck wept bitteily, and refused to be com- 
forted. 


IN THE REBEL CAMP. 


295 


CHAPTER XXII. 

IN THE BEBEL CAMP. 

\TERY early, almost at sunrise, Aunt Debby, Mar- 
* jorie, and Posy bad set out for Friend Hicks’, accom- 
panied by the spy and Jim, the black boy who served as 
coachman. 

Rogers might have been taken for a most respectable 
Quaker preacher ; he was attired in Reuben Frost’s best 
suit (which, fortunately for Aunt Debby’s peace of mind, 
fitted him pretty well) , and he had stored his black wig 
away in some hidden receptacle about his person, suffer- 
ing his long white locks to float around his shoulder, 
crowned by his broad-brimmed hat. Had it not been for 
the sinister expression of his eyes, and a certain restless 
trembling and twitching of his hands, you would have 
supposed him to be a venerable man of position and good 
; circumstances ; quite the patriarch of the party. 

Aunt Debby took one of her violent prejudices to him 
i on the spot. “Get him inside on the back seat,” said 
she, in a whisper to Marjorie, as they stopped at Cato’s 
cabin to take Rogers up, “ and don’t let him come too 
near me ! Sneak, every inch of him,” and she deposited 
Posy between her knees very much as if she was afraid 
; fco let the man touch her pet. The ride to Friend Hicks’ 
was a long one at all times, but made longer now from 
Jim’s intense fear of running against unpleasant cus- 
tomers. The road was a bad one, the ruts heavy and 
deep, and Posy declared that u ner bones were sore, and 
ihe guessed they’d come right out of her elbows, me 




MARJORIE'S QUEST. 


2lk> 


dear,” before they had gone half way. And when they 
were yet about two miles distant from Friend Hicks 
house, a wheel broke down, which delayed them some 
time, and caused them to fall in with very unpleasant 
company. They were all standing on the roadside, Jim 
hammering away at the unlucky wheel, when they were 
Buddenly startled by an exclamation from Rogers. 

“ Thunder and blazes ! we are in a fix no mistake.” 

Aunt Debby dropped the reins on Black Prince’s back, 
and looking up the road, to her horror, beheld a small 
company of troopers attired in the unwelcome gray coats. 
“ Nothing for it but to sit down and let them come up,” 
said she. “War times in earnest, I guess. I’d as lief 
as not be in down east Massachusetts.” 

Look there ! ” cried Marjorie, joyfully, standing up 
in the back of the cart, and waving her handkerchief. 

“ Told you we were in a bad box,” muttered Rogers ; 
“ just between fires, you’ll see.” 

Over the field at the left of the party in the road, 
came at least fifty United States soldiers. They rode 
Bplendidly, their sabres gleaming brightly in the sun- 
light. Marjorie’s lips trembled ; she had it in her heart 
to cry like a baby at sight of the dear old blue. As yet 
they had not perceived the guerrillas, but it was evident, 
by the wavering of the Confederates, that they were 
aware of the enemy’s approach with a larger force than 
their own, for the leader, a man on a powerful brown 
horse, turned to say something to those behind him. He 
was too late, for there was a sudden unintelligible order 
shouted by the Union leader ; a blinding dust ; a clatter 
V>f hoofs, and the troopers flashed by like a whirlwind. 

“ Ha ! there they go — hurrah ! ” shouted Rogers. 

“ Bully for de Lincom sogers ! ” shrieked Jim, nearly 


IN THE REBEL CAMP. 


297 


beside liiinself, and morally certain that he was going to 
be killed. 

The skirmish was over as suddenly as it began. Mar- 
jorie and Aunt Debby had hardly time to clear the dust 
from their eyes and throats before a pleasant voice at the 
side of the cart said, “ I hope you were not frightened, 
ladies. That was a very bloodless affair.” 

“ Humph ! ” said Aunt Debby, strangling over the last 
grain of dust. “Wouldn’t have minded if you’d killed 
’em every one. Suppose we shake hands, friend ; I 
haven’t seen a Yankee in some time, and I feel mighty 
friendly.” 

The young officer laughed merrily as he bent over and 
complied with the spinster’s request. He had a bright 
fresh face, notwithstanding the bronzing which campaign- 
ing had given him, and a mischievous pair of dark eyes. 

“I’m the genuine article,” said he, “ straight from the 
‘ Hub,’ ma’am, and so are my men — the only regiment 
from the Old Bay State in the Valley.” 

“ All the better,” said Aunt Debby, heartily. “ Hope 
you gave it to those, fellows,” nodding her head in the 
direction of the guerrillas. 

“ Captured a dozen, or so,” said he, carelessly. “ The 
rest showed a clean pair of heels very cleverly. Any- 
thing I can do for you, ladies ? ” 

“Yes; take our venerable friend here with you — he 
belongs to you,” said Aunt Debby, wheeling around so 
suddenly that Posy nearly lost her balance. “I was 
helping this man to get away, and I sha’n’t mind a bit if 
you’ll take him off my hands.” 

“ All right. Captain Romilly,” said Rogers, jumping 
rhwn from the cart, and going around to the officer’s 
bn tie. “ I’ve been lying around a week trying to get off 


298 MARJORIE’S QUEST. 

with a bundle of papers — they like to have cost me 
dear.” 

Captain Romilly stared. u You seem to know me, my 
good fellow,” said he, u but I’m hanged if I know you.” 

“ Ain’t accustomed to my gray hair,” said Rogers, pull- 
ing out the wig which he usually wore. “ Look more 
natural now, eh ? ” 

“ Hum — yes,” said Captain Romilly, reflectively , 
“I’ve seen you in Custar’s tent. Well ; you may get a 
mount from my men ; I’ll see that you get safely into 
camp.” 

“ Stop him ! ” cried Marjorie, suddenly, her sweet face 
flushed with excitement as she sprang up. “ He prom- 
ised — O, Miss Debby — you know he promised to give 
me the information which I’ve wanted so long.” 

“ Attend to the young lady,” said Captain Romilly, 
sharply, as Rogers turned with a sullen face. 

With instinctive delicacy, Aunt Debby began a con- 
versation with the Union officer, while Rogers went 
around to the side of the cart, and spoke to Marjorie in 
an undertone. 

“ You kept your promise,” said he, reluctantly ; “ that 
is, you did, and you didn’t — but I’m safe now, and likely 
to get within the Union lines, so I don’t mind telling you 
what I meant to. You just go home to Philadelphia, and 
ash General Clive who your father was” 

Her face changed painfully. 

“You are deceiving me!” she panted, tears rushing to 
her eyes. 

“Am I?” said Rogers, with a queer smile. “You 
try it. I don’t say for sure, mind — I warned you of 
that. But General Clive is a friend of your father’s, and 
knows your name — I’ll swear to that. And,” coming 


IN THE REBEL CAMP. 


299 


close to her side, u you may tell him that Dan Rodman 
said so, and told you to ask him.” 

Marjorie sat still in the cart, her hands clasped over her 
heart, but she did not speak until the last trooper was 
out of sight, and then she crept close to Aunt Debby. 

“ Go on, Jim,” said that lady; “as long as we’ye come 
bo far we may as well go to Cousin Lemuel’s and stay 
over night. We’ve got rid of the rapscallion, thank the 
Lord ! Daisy,” a softening of the mouth as her search- 
ing eyes scanned the young girl’s face, “ what is it ? 
Didn’t he keep his word ? ” 

“ I can’t tell,” said Marjorie, mournfully. “ He only 
told me of some one whom he says knows who I am. 
And it seems so improbable. He told me to tell General 
Clive that Dan Rodman sent me to ask him about my 
; father. Do you believe that General Clive knows ? ” 

“ It ’s a shame,” said Miss Debby, warmly. “ Well, 
there ’s no earthly harm in asking , as I can see. George 
Clive, eh? Wasn’t that the one who had some queer 
I quarrel with his father ? ” 

The color flew back into Marjorie’s face. “ It can’t 
I be — you don’t suppose ? ” she faltered incoherently. 

“ Why, ever so long ago, when I first came to Mrs. 

; Randolph’s, she told me a story about her uncle George, 
one day when she was showing me her jewels, and I saw 
a picture of him ” — 

“Well?” said Aunt Debby, interrogatively, as Mar- 
; jorie paused. 

“ I was trying to think,” said she, starting. “ It was 
something about his marriage that his father was dis- 
pleased with — O ! Miss Debby — you don’t ever sup- 
j pose that he could be ny father f ” 

It was good to hear the lingering of Marjorie’s sweet 
voice on those two words. 


800 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ Child,” .said good Aunt Debby, kissing her, “ don’t 
worry yourself into a fever. If he is, he is , and you’ll 
find it out ; if he is not, you’d only have an awful dis- 
appointment. Do you want to go back and find out ? 
I won’t stand in the way. But I’m free to confess that 
if a letter would do to begin matters, it would please me 
More especially as I’m beginning to think we won’t be 
63 fe around here very much longer ; if we’ve got to go 
North (grandma, the children, and I), we can all pull 
up sticks and go together. She’ll hate to leave the 
place ; but if we’re going, we might as well go while the 
money lasts. I’ll consult Cousin Lemuel about it this 
very day.” 

Friend Hicks’ house was a snug little place, under the 
shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains, and looked quite 
neat, considering that it was war times and money and 
labor scarce. The grim Quaker himself, in a broad- 
brimmed straw hat, was sweeping up the walk which led 
to his front door, and he came down to the cart broom 
in hand. 

“ I’m pleased to see thee, Deborah Frost,” said he ; 
“ and thee, friend Daisy, and thee, Posy. Thee ’s all wel- 
come. But where ’s Puck ? ” 

“ There wasn’t room,” said Posy, “ and he was awful 
sorry. But I told him I guessed you’d send him some 
peppermints, and he told me not to forget.” 

“ Posy ! ” said Aunt Debby’s voice, in warning accents. 
The little maid shrank behind Marjorie, and only emerged 
Jtrom her place of refuge when Friend Hicks, with a 
chuckle, told her to go into the front room and see if she 
did not find a plate of ginger-snaps. 

“We came to ask your hospitality for an unfortunate 
man, whom we didn’t dare to harbor,” said Aunt Debby 


IN THE REBEL „AMP. 


301 


removing her bonnet, and making herself comfortable in 
a rocking-chair. “ But luckily for you — and the rest of 
us — we met a party of Union soldiers who kindly took 
him off our hands ; and a party of guerrillas,” added she, 
creasing her bonnet strings carefully. “ Have you had 
any trouble that way ? ” 

“ Plenty,” said Friend Hicks, after listening to the ac- 
count of their adventures. “ I should have done my best 
for thee had’st thou brought the man here, but thee sees 
we are no ways secure just now.” 

“ Dear me,” said Aunt Debby with a rueful counte- 
nance. u This will make it bad for our other guest, 
Daisy.” 

“ More spies ? ” said Friend Hicks, with a dry look. 

“ No, indeed,” said Aunt Debby, indignantly. u I wish 
you could see him, Cousin Lemuel ; the nicest, most re- 
spectful young man I’ve seen for many a day. W ell, we 
won’t borrow trouble ; I guess the way of escape will 
open somehow.” 

They had a quiet, pleasant afternoon in Friend Hicks’ 
cool parlor. Posy coaxed Marjorie to take her out for a 
walk while Cousin Lemuel and Aunt Debby were talking 
over dry business details. 

The woods were lovely, and Posy was enchanted ; and 
in hearing the little maid’s quaint chatter, Marjorie par- 
tially forgot her disappointment of the morning, and (in 
her thoughts) composed the letter which she meant to 
write to Virginia. 

Friend Hicks was anxious to have his visitors prolong 
their stay, but a sort of undefined anxiety on the part of 
Aunt Debby for the unprotected household which she had 
left behind made her decline the hospitality, and start 
early the next day for home. 


802 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


Friend Hicks concluded to accompany them ; he wanted 
to see Grandma Frost, and talk over the expediency of 
her removing North during the threatening aspect of things 
about them. So mounting his gray horse, Friend Hicks 
rode along with the party, and supplied Posy with a 
plentiful package of peppermints on their way through 
Deepwater Run. 

This journey was an uneventful one (for which Aunt 
Debbv r thanked her stars ” several times), and late in 
the afternoon they arrived safely at home again. 

To use Aunt Debby V expression, “ as soon as she set 
eyes on grandma ” she knew something had happened. 

The old lady sat with folded hands, her knitting lay on 
the floor, and Riot was making mince-meat of the ball 
of worsted, umnolested, while Dora turned pale as her 
aunt’s sharp eyes fell on her face. 

“ What’n the world ’s the matter ? ” demanded Aunt 
Debby. From the corner emerged a distracted figure ; 
his hair tousled up in one grand friz, his collar hanging 
down his back, and shoe-strings dragging on the ground, 
while with a sob Puck made hasty answer, — 

“ The nasty howid webels corned and hanged Blot — 
only Captain Wex wushed out of the hay-stack and 
wouldn’t let ’em — and they tooked him away to hang 
him. An’ he said I was a hewo, an’ to tell Aunt Debby 
— O! ” 

And the tender-hearted hero, whose tears had flowed 
plentifully ever since the occurrence, seized his devoted 
Posy around the neck and went off on a fresh score of 
sobs. 

It would oe vain to try to depict Aunt Debby’s feel- 
ings as Grandma Frost told the story of Lieutenant Hayes’ 
visit and its result. Rex had attracted hex greatly and 


IN THE REBEL CAMP. 


303 


even had that not been so, it is but justice to add that 
the poorest and meanest Union soldier would have been 
an object of interest to Aunt Debby. 

Her patriotism was not of the lukewarm order ; indeed, 
j it burned rather the more hotly for its repression, and 
tears of ’wrath gathered in her eyes and rolled slowly down 
her cheeks as she listened. 

“ In the hands of the Philistines : the Lord help him ! ” 

| Baid she. 

Marjorie, who had stood with lips apart, and face pal- 
ing as Dora had told her the story, found her voice at 
! last. 

“ Miss Debby, we must do something ,” cried she. 
“ Don’t you see they have mistaken him for Rogers. He 
was the spy they were looking for — somehow they 
tracked him here, and they won’t stop to look for proof.” 
Marjorie wrung her little hands at her own helplessness. 
“ That man Hayes looked just like a tiger. They’ll 
kill him ” — and then Marjorie broke down utterly at the 
thought of the frank, kindly face, and the brave young 
life which would be blotted out so ruthlessly. “ I’ll tell 
you what,” said she, recovering herself in a moment, dur- 
ing which they all looked at her in amazement at seeing 
the quiet little governess so disturbed ; “ I ’ll take Brown 
Bess and Cato, and ride down to the rebel camp, and tell 
j them that I helped the real spy away, and that Captain 
King had nothing to do with it. They won’t hurt me, 
Miss Debby — and I’m not one bit afraid.” 

“ Is the child crazy ? ” demanded Aunt Debby, glancing 
at the amazed faces of the circle. Grandma shook her 
head, and it is hardly probable that Marjorie would have 
gained consent to make the experiment, had she not re- 
ceived assistance from a most unexpected quarter. “ It ’s 


804 


Marjorie’s quest. 


a brave thought,” said Friend Hicks, gruffly, laying hie 
big brown hand on Marjorie’s shoulder. “ And rather 
than not have it carried out, I will myself go with thee.” 

“ You ? ” Aunt Debby was past anything but a mono- 
syllable in the extremity of her surprise. This announce- 
ment bid fair to upset her completely. 

“ O, thank you ! ” cried poor Marjorie, seizing hold of 
the big hand. “It will be all right — it must be all 
right now. Miss Debby, may I have Brown Bess ? ” 

“ Bless my stars, child, and welcome ! Let me get my 
breath, first.” 

“ Does anybody know where we are likely to find the 
party who captured Captain King ? ” said Marjorie. 

“I can tell thee,” said Friend Hicks, interposing. 
“ The main army with Jubal Early are somewhere this 
Bide of Cedar Run. But if thy friend was taken by 
bushwhackers, it will be next to impossible to track 
h im ; does thee know, Friend Frost? ” 

“ The officer said he was going back to join Early,” 
said grandma. “ Did he not, Dora ? ” 

“Yes. They were not bushwhackers,” said Dora, 
with a slight return of her old petulance. “ They were 
regular Confederate cavalry; Hayes is in Harry Pey- 
ton’s company, and belongs to the — Virginia Regiment.” 

“ There is no time to be lost, then,” said Friend Hicks, 
glancing at the setting sun. “ Let thy servant give my 
white nag good measure of oats, then give us a bite of 
Bupper, if thee please, Friend Frost, and let us be off 
The ride is through the forest, part way, and nigh 
upon fourteen miles. Put on warmer clothes than these 
child,” looking at Marjorie’s white dress. 

“ You may have my habit,” said Dora, rising, and as 
Marjorie thanked her with a grateful look, both girla 
tfent up-stairs. 


IN THE REBEL CAMP. 


805 


That movement aroused Aunt Debby, and springing 
Up, she bustled about, giving Cato directions, and flying 
out into the kitchen, where, assisted by Chloe, she put 
up a basket of edibles to be taken by Cousin Lemuel. 
Marjorie found a supper awaiting her when she came 
down-stairs, but she could not eat it. She was in an 
agony of impatience to be off. The subtle, undefined 
chord of old associations and childish affection, which 
something in Rex’s voice and manner had touched, was 
ringing painfully, and she could not pretend to account 
for the pang which shot through her heart whenever the 
ghastly thought came over her that perhaps they might 
be too late. 

If she lives to be eighty years old, Marjorie will never 
forget that ride. The night was a comparatively clear 
one, but the road for miles was overshadowed by trees, 
. through which she caught but occasional glimpses of the 
stars, and part of the distance was straight through a 
forest. The smell of the pines, the sound of the whip- 
poor-will, and the melancholy chirp of crickets and tree- 
toads; the overpowering sensation of loneliness which 
made her lay her hand on Brown Bess’s neck (glad to 
feel even that companionship when Friend Hicks acted 
as a guide, and went before her) ; all these were photo- 
graphed on Marjorie’s very soul. 

It was a long, hard ride. Friend Hicks rarely spoke 
— for two reasons: first, it was against his custom to 
waste many words at any time ; and, secondly, it was 
more prudent to be still, not knowing who might be 
: within hearing. He was an excellent guide; he had 
i lived in this vicinity for many years, and knew all the 
by-roads and shortest paths to any given point for miles 
! wound. 


306 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


Tlie country through which they passed grew more 
and more desolate : Marjorie shuddered as they rode by 
houses (or the ruins of houses) which were almost 
burned to the ground ; and Friend Hicks told her in a 
low whisper of the murder of the gallant Meigs, and 
how Sheridan had, in retaliation, ordered the burning of 
all houses within an area of five miles. Assuredly if she 
had known what war in the Valley was likely to be, 
Marjorie would never have left her Northern home ; but, 
as the thought crossed her mind, she remembered that it 
was only since her stay here that she had obtained even 
a faint clew to her father, and she said herself that the 
growing hope was worth the trials and fear of her present 
position. 

The ride with all its detours was nearer twenty than 
fourteen miles, and it was long past midnight when 
Friend Hicks caught Marjorie’s bridle-rein in his hand, * 
and spoke. 

44 We must be very near them, now,” said he ; “ unless 
my memory fails me there is a hill ” — 

44 Halt ! Who goes there ? ” said a strange voice, on 
their left, followed by the click of a musket. 

“ Friend,” said the Quaker, quietly. 

44 Advance, friend, and give the countersign,” was the 
reply. 

But as the strangers stood still, the picket began a 
conversation, first prudently covering the old man with 
his musket. 

44 How many of you are there ? ” said he with a true 
Southern drawl. “ And what are yer doing hyar ? ” 

“We want to go to Jubal Early’s head-quarters, 
friend,” said Friend Hicks, ignoring titles as usual. “ II 
khee will conduct us there in safety, we will be much 


IN THE REBEL CAMP. 807 

beholden to thee. W e have somewhat of importance to 
Bay to thy commander.” 

“ What’ll ‘ thee ’ say if I won t ? ” demanded the 
Boldier mimicking him as he sounded the signal for the 
picket guard. “We don’t let strange folks inside our 
lines often.” 

“ I should desire thee not to be so discourteous,” said 
the Quaker coolly. Then there was a noise of other 
feet, and half a dozen men came up under charge of a 
corporal. 

He (the corporal) was more civil than their first ques- 
tioner had been, and after putting a great many questions 
to the Quaker, and flinging the blaze of a pine torch on 
Marjorie’s face, he finally consented to take them inside 
the fines to his superior officer, and, provided that gentle- 
man consented to pass them along, to General Early’s 
head-quarters. 

Marjorie had again to undergo the ordeal of being 
stared at by a sleepy-looking, obese young man in a 
major’s uniform, who evidently was curious to know what 
had brought a young and pretty girl into the camp in 
[ the middle of the night ; and he questioned them pretty 
| closely. 

“ I don’t see but what you’ll have to wait until 
; daybreak,” said he, at last ; “ no ” — checking himself — 
“ that won’t do. Hadn’t you better leave your errand 

I with me ? ” 

“ That is quite impossible,” said Marjorie, speaking for 
the first time, and looking pleadingly out of those lovely 
gray eyes of her’s at the officer. “ My business with 
General Early is urgent; I will not detain him long.” 

~ They’re up in the General’s tent, yet,” said one of 
| ihe men, in a loud whisper, touching his hat, as the 
vrvajor looked around at him. 


808 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ Well,” reluctantly, “ I hope I sha’n’t get bla.oed foi 
it. There ’s a consultation going on up at head-quarters. 
Come along ; perhaps I can get hold of the General.” 

Marjorie and Friend Hicks followed the officer up a 
slight decline of ground, at the top of which stood a tent, 
from whence proceeded the sound of several voices. As 
they reached the sentry posted outside, two officers lifted 
the curtain of the tent and came out, looking keenly at 
the little group, and acknowledging the major’s salute as 
they passed down the hill, 

There were a few moments of impatient waiting, a 
sudden sinking of her brave little heart, as she dis* 
mounted in obedience to the orderly’s signal, and then 
Marjorie found herself in the presence of the Confederate 
General whose raids had made his name famous. 

“ Friend,” said the old Quaker, standing erect, without 
removing his hat, “ Daisy Russell desires to speak with 
thee.” And having thus performed the introduction, 
Friend Hicks said not one word further until he was 
obliged to. 

“ Will Miss Russell be seated ? ” said a rather formal 
voice, and as Marjorie raised her head she saw a pair of 
quick, restless eyes set underneath heavy, grizzled brows 
looking keenly at her. Another officer wearing the 
uniform of a general sat at the other side of the table, 
and as Marjorie drew a step nearer, in his turn, he 
raised his head and surveyed her curiously. 

“ I would rather stand,” Marjorie said, her lips setting 
themselves in the old, firm line with which, when a child, 
she used to confront any disagreeable task. 

“ I came to ask you, sir, about a Union officer whom 
Lieutenant Hayes captured yesterday afternoon on the 
estate of Mrs. Frost. Is he in your camp ? ” 


IN THE REBEL CAMP. 


309 


“ If you mean the spy, Rogers, he will be tried by 
30urt-martial,” said Early. u He is the only prisoner 
whom I think of — stay, there was a general officer who 
was brought in last night. Do you mean him ? ” 

u No,” said Marjorie; “I mean — the officer whom 
Lieutenant Hayes captured. I know all about Rogers, 
and I am prepared to swear that this gentleman is not 
he.” 

“ Indeed,” said the General, with an incredulous smile. 
“ And pray, what proof can you give of the truth of your 
assertion ? ” 

“Only this” — growing a shade paler: “The spy 
Rogers was on Mrs. Frost’s plantation, although she knew 
hothing of it. I assisted him to escape, and yesterday 
escorted him to a place of safety.” 

General Early forgot himself, and swore a round oath. 
“ And you dare to stand there and tell me of it ? ” 

“ I have ridden eighteen miles to tell you so,” she said, 
her voice wonderfully quiet, as she tried to still the convul- 
sive throbbing of her heart. “Do you suppose I would 
suffer an innocent man to be hung for a spy, and not open 
my lips in his defense ? ” 

“ Is the prisoner a relation of yours ? ” said the other 
* fficer, laying down his pen, and speaking in a very pol- 
ished manner. 

“ Sweetheart, perhaps ? ” said Early. 

The bright blood flew in torrents into her pale cheeks. 
“ 1 think that has nothing to do with my errand,” she 
said, with gentle dignity. 

The general at the table gave an imperceptible frown : 
Early turned over some notes on the table. 

“ What is the young man’s name ? ” said he. 

“I do not know — it may be Ring,” said Marjorie, 
hesitating for the firs* time. 


810 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ He gave bis name here as Captain Gray, New York 
Cavalry,” said Early. “ Hayes and his men were posi- 
tive that he was the notorious Rogers, and I ordered him 
for further examination, solely because I believe the spy 
to be an older man. Young lady, if your testimony is 
true, I will send the prisoner to Richmond ; but you will 
have to identify him.” 

1 don’t know that I can say anything positively about 
his name and rank,” said Marjorie, steadily. “ He said 
expressly, when he first came to us, that he would not 
give his full name for fear of getting us into trouble. 
But I know his face,” — the vivid blush returning again, 
under the General’s meaning smile. 

“ Describe him,” said Early, looking at the paper in 
his hand. 

“ He is very handsome,” began Marjorie ; then stopped, 
in some confusion. “ That is, I think so,” she added, 
jiaively. “ He is very tall, and has chestnut-brown curls, 
and blue eyes, — very deep blue, — and a long, fair mus- 
tache, and a dimple in his chin.” 

“ That is a tolerably correct description of the young 
man,” said General Early. “And you are prepared to 
Bwear positively that, whoever the prisoner may be, he is 
not Rogers ? ” 

“ I am.” 

“ Will the young lady tell us where Rogers is now ? ” 
Baict the other general. 

“ I cannot answer the question accurately. A party of 
Union soldiers met us (as I was helping him off), and 
they took him with them.” 

“ Friend,” said the Quaker, suddenly breaking silence 
and totally ignoring the danger of such an admission, “ il 
a true. It was to my house she was bringing the man 


IN THE REBEL CAMP. 


311 


Thee knows I am a man of peace, and he would have 
been safe there. She arrived without him ; the child’s 
story is true, ’ 

“ Better send the young Captain to the Libby,” said 
Breckenridge, in a whisper to Early. He nodded ; then 
called his orderly. 

“ Are the prisoners who came in yesterday in the guard- 
house ? ” 

“Yes, General.” 

“ Take a pine torch, then, and go ahead of us. I pro- 
pose to visit one of them.” 

There was a gray look about the sky as they emerged 
from the tent, which betokened the approach of dawn, 
and a sort of subdued stir in the camp which seemed to 
tell of some movement of the troops. Early lit a cigar, 
with a brief apology to Marjorie as he did so, and walked 
on, by the young girl’s side, until they came to the place 
where the prisoners were confined. The light of the 
torch fell upon several sleeping forms ; and Rex, who had 
been dreaming of home, and the night long ago when he 
had looked at the stars with Marjorie, opened his eyes 
and sprang to his feet. 

“ Where is the man whom Hayes captured ? ” said 
Early’s impatient voice. 

“ Present,” said two voices, and Rex, not more than 
half awake, stumbled over one of his companions in his 
haste. 

“ That is he,” said Marjorie, stepping forward where 
Ihe light fell aslant her pale face and golden hair. 

“ Marjorie /” In Rex’s excitement and surprise, the 
word fell from his lips before he was aware ; but she 
vas too full of her errand to even hear it. She walked 
■lirectly up to him, and put out her hand frankly. 


312 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ I am in time,” she said, her soft eyes dilating frith 
pleasure. “ The spy Rogers was on the plantation, and 
he was the man whom we took away. You are safe now 
— is he not ? ” and she turned to General Early. The 
General shrugged his shoulders. 

“ I have promised this young lady that you shall be 
forwarded to Richmond with the rest,” he said, briefly. 

“Do not look so sorry,” Rex managed to whisper 
to Marjorie, as he saw her face change sorrowfully. 
“ There is such a thing as exchanged prisoners, you know, 
and that ’s better than being shot for a spy. Some day, 
when the war is over, you will let me thank you for your 
courage and bravery ? ” 

He kissed her hand in his chivalrous, courtly way, 
raised his cap to the General, and in another second the 
door closed, and she was gone. 

“ God bless her ! ” thought Rex, with a tumultuous 
thumping of his heart which made him feel rather oddly 
bewildered. “Will I ever have a chance to find out 
whether my suspicions are correct ? ” 

“Young man!” — a hot, feverish hand grasped his, 
and a pair of eager eyes gleamed brightly down at him 
even in the semi-darkness of the apartment ; “ for God’s 
sake, tell me who that was ! ” 

“ The lady ? ” said Rex, startled by the tone of the 
speaker. 

“ That young girl with golden hair whom you called 
Marjorie.” 

“ Did I ? ” said Rex, in amazement. “ Then I must 
have spoken my thoughts out loud. Her name is Daisy 
Russell.” 

“ It cannot be ! ” cried the speaker, vehemently. “ She 


IN THE REBEL CAMP. 


313 


is Madeline’s living self — my child, my dear little 
child ! ” 

He staggered backward, his eyes closed, and Rex 
caught him in his arms and laid him gently down upon 
the floor. 


314 


MARJORIE’S QUEST 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

AT WESTCHESTER. 

‘ TT ALLO ! guard, bring some water here, arid hurry 

AA up about it,” said Rex, unfastening the officer’s 
vest, and discovering that he had merely swooned. One of 
the Other prisoners happened to have a little brandy left 
in his pocket flask, and they got a portion of it down his 
throat, and, after chafing his hands, lie revived. 

44 He ought to be in the hospital,” said the other, in a 
whisper to Rex. 44 He had a particularly ugly wound in 
the arm, when they captured him yesterday, and I don’t 
think that the surgeon knew his business who came to 
look at it. Know who he is ? General Clive, of Crook’s 
Division.” 

4 4 Clive ? ” said Rex, wondering where he had heard 
the name before. 

44 Did you speak ? ” said General Clive faintly, catch- 
ing his name. 44 O, I remember — I fainted.” 

44 Yes,” said Rex. 44 Take the rest of this brandy. I 
Bhall send for the surgeon, if I can get the guard to go. 
Are you in pain ? ” 

44 Not so much as during the early part of the night,” 
Baid General Clive. 44 Never mind my arm just now. 
Will you tell me your name, sir ? ” 

44 Reginald Gray,” said Rex ; 44 1 am in Custar’s Divis- 
ion.” 

44 Gray ! Any relation of Judge James Gray ? ” said 
General Clive, suddenly remembering that the Judge haa 
s. son in the army. 


AT WINCHESTER. 315 

u His only son,” said Rex, smiling. 44 Dc you know 
iny father ? ” 

4 4 Only by reputation. I wrote him a lei ter a short 
time since to beg for information of a little girl, whom I 
have reason to think resided in your family at one time.” 

Rex gave a hasty exclamation. 44 1 never knew such a 
coincidence in my life ! My dear sir, I believe I can give 
you all the details you desire. Let me offer you my 
blanket in this corner, where I think we can talk undis- 
turbed.” 

Rex’s amazement may be imagined, as General Clive 
gave him a hasty outline of his search for Marjorie, and 
the curious clews, which, one by one, had come into his 
hand, leading him, at last, to Judge Gray’s. So this was 
Marjorie’s father ; this soldierly, sad-eyed man, who 
spoke so tenderly of his lost wife and child ; could it be 
possible that, after all these years, the old boyish promise 
which he had made to his little playmate would be re- 
deemed, and that he should indeed 44 find her father ? ” 

But if Rex’s surprise was great, General Clive’s inter- 
est in the long story which the young captain told him 
is hardly to be described. Judge Gray’s letter had never 
reached him, and Percy Clive had delayed writing, pur- 
posely, until he should have certain information to give ; 
and, therefore, the account of Marjorie’s life at the 
Grays’, her adoption by Mrs. Wylder, and subsequent 
disappearance was all new to her father. But Rex could 
lot supply the hiatus in her history ; he could only add 
an account of his stumbling upon this sweet little Daisy 
Russell, whose startling likeness to the child he had loved 
had almost convinced him that it must, indeed, be her 
*ery self. And when Rex, after teLing all this, added 
die story which Dora had told him of Marjorie’s being 


316 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


educated, and cared for, by Mr. Selden Clive, the Gen- 
eral's excitement became almost painful to witness ; he 
clasped his hands over his eyes, and his powerful frame 
Bhook with emotion. 

“ Don’t, pray don’t,” said Rex, as the General tried to 
utter a few words of gratitude. “ She was the sweetest 
child I ever knew, and one could not but love her. Keep 
all that for my father — my dear father,” and under the 
heavy mustache Rex’s lips quivered as he thought that 
he would give half the world — anything — to see that 
father’s face once again. “ Hark ! ” said Rex, suddenly, 
a familiar sound greeting his ears. “ There is — there 
must be a movement of the troops. An attack — listen ! 9 
as a distant sound of musketry thundered on the air. 
“ O, if I was only there ! Guard ! ” 

But that functionary paid no heed to the call, and the 
handful of Union prisoners crowded together, and began 
to calculate the chances of escape. 

Certainly those chances did not grow brighter, when, 
some two hours later, the conversation of the soldiers 
outside revealed to the anxious listeners that Early had 
attacked the Federals at daybreak, and driven them back 
three or four miles, capturing artillery and routing them 
completely. 

“ Routing ’em, eh ?” quoth an indignant private, whose 
nasal accents betrayed his claim to the epithet of Yankee. 
4 I’d like tu get hold of t’other end of that yarn. Yeou 
jest hold on till yeou hear what little Phil has to say.” 

After long waiting there came a change for the prison- 
ers. A squad of troopers dashed up and ordered them 
all to turn out ; “ they were to be taken to the rear,’ 
said the commander of the troop, and that was all tha 
information vouchsafed them. 


AT WINCHESTER. 


317 


“ Dew tell ! ” whispered Private Slocum to Rex, with 
a dry chuckle. 44 Shouldn’t wonder if Phil had been 
havin’ his say, Capting.” 

Other people might have been found to concur in 
Private Slocum’s opinion when the story of that 19th of 
Octobei Hashed over the length and breadth of the land, 
telling how gallant Phil Sheridan rode from Winchester 
down to join his army, and plucked the laurels of victory 
from the talons of defeat. Can we ever forget the dawn 
of those days which — 

“ Hailed news on news, as field on field was won; 

When Hope, long doubtful, soared at length sublime, 

And our glad eyes, awake as day begun, 

Watched Joy’s broad banner rise, to meet the Rising Sun.” 

The Union prisoners in the rebel camp, however, had 
but meagre tidings of the change in the fortunes of war, 
and it was not until a second order came for them to fall 
further back that the first hope of making his escape 
really took possession of Captain Rex. He had kept 
close by General Clive all day, and now the idea occurred 
to him that perhaps by watching their opportunity they 
might elude the guard and slip off into the surrounding 
thickets. One by one, the troopers guarding them grew 
less ; the wounded and dying were coming in fast, in the 
few ambulances, and about the middle of the afternoon a 
simultaneous retreat began, which soon increased into a 
panic. 

44 Now ’s your time,” whispered Private Slocum, catch- 
ing a stray horse by the bridle. 44 Put the General on 
this ere beast, an’ yeou an’ me’ll make eout, somehow, I 
tsalkalate.” 

Taking advantage of a demoralized company who were 
trooping up over the hill, the Union prisoners scattered 


818 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


in three or four different directions, Rex and Private 
Slocum on either side of General Clive’s horse, and, after 
a successful detour of over a mile they came out in the 
direction of the field of battle, as was evident by the din 
and smoke, and the straggling men and horses. Half a 
mile further they had just time to partially conceal them- 
selves, when, in a whirl of dust, driving a number of 
Confederates before him, Custar dashed by bare-headed, 
fighting recklessly as was his wont, in the thickest of the 
fray. 

u I can’t stand this,” said Rex, catching sight of his 
own corps. “ Stand by General Clive, Slocum ; I must 
have a brush at them.” 

Off he went, with a ringing shout, snatching a sabre 
from a wounded man, who cheered him as he passed. He 
had the satisfaction of a sharp tussle with a big Texan, 
who gave him a scratch in the left shoulder, and a briefer 
fight with two Georgians, who turned and fled, but it is 
difficult to say when Rex would have considered it neces- 
sary to pause, had not a soldier, who was fighting bravely 
just in front of him, been struck by a rebel sharp-shooter, 
and falling backward, nearly blinded Rex by the stream 
of blood that poured over him. 

“ Guess I’m done for this time,” said the man, as Rex, 
staggering to his feet, bent down to see if his comrade 
still lived. “ Can’t you drag me out of this a little, and 
et me find a quiet place to die ? ” 

That was an appeal which could not be made in vain 
:o Reginald Gray, and presently, to General Clive’s sur- 
prise, he came back, panting and breathless, and begged 
Private Slocum to lend a hand toward bringing the dying 
man where they were. 

They carried him over to the little knoll where Gen- 



“GENERAL CLTVE STOOPED OVER HIM 
















* 






% 



















« « 









































AT WINCHESTER. 


319 


eral Clive sat, and laid him down under a tree, on a patch 
of green sward. 

“ There is a trifle of brandy left in the flask,” said 
General Clive, locking pityingly down at the stream of 
blood which burst from the soldier’s breast with every 
respiration. 

The dying man started wildly. 

“ Who spoke ? ” he gasped. “ George, George, don’t 
you know me ? ” 

General Clive stooped over him. “ My God!” said 
he, in a voice divided between horror and relief, “ I 
thought you were dead years ago.” 

“ Better for some of us if I had been,” said Rodman, 
bitterly, — “ you among the number. George, I did care 
for you in the old college days, but I’ve treated you like 
a dog since then. Suppose you just say you forgive me 
before I die.” 

“You don’t know all the evil I have done you and 
yours,” said Rodman, as General Clive pressed his hand. 
“ Perhaps you’ll not find it as easy to say, when I tell 
you of it.” 

“ Give me the rest of that brandy,” said he, faintly. 
“ Ah ! that makes me feel my own man again. You 
stay here,” as Rex moved a little away, thinking that 
perhaps General Clive would prefer to be alone with the 
man ; “ it ’s just as well to have a witness to this, and I’ll 
soon be out of reach of anybody’s censure.” 

“You didn’t know how far down the social scale I fell y 
during your residence abroad, George,” said Rodman, 
after a short pause, in a much firmer voice. “ When 
your letter came asking me to send over the sums which 
your brothers allowed you at stated periods, and wishing 
me to continue to forward them to your wife after you 


320 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


Dad sailed for home, it found me in a precious tight box. 
I had, all along, been aching to pocket some of it. And 
then I felt that I could do so with impunity. So I took 
half of the first three remittances ; the fourth, I appro- 
priated entire. But, one day, I was struck with conster- 
nation to see a letter (which I knew must be from your 
wife) come to my care ; so I opened it. I found that 
she had taken passage in the Irelandais with the child, 
under the name of Williams. You were too ill to dis- 
cover anything ; I met Mrs. Clive when she landed, and 
took her to my own boarding-house.” 

A groan from General Clive interrupted him. 

“ Let me get to the end. She came, and was in a 
frenzy of impatience to see you. I am a cleverish hand 
at imitating handwriting, so I showed her a few lines 
from you saying that she must go to your father’s and try 
to obtain his consent to remain there. She was very in- 
nocent ; she believed me — and she went.” 

There was a pause ; no one spoke, only the labored 
breathing of the wounded man was heard. 

“ I was all ready to bolt,” he resumed, 44 and I knew 
that in sending the poor young woman to your father’s I 
was as good as sending her into the streets. She ’s haunted 
me ever since ; I’ve never been able to get away from 
that white face of her’s. And I did bolt; after my 
quarrel with your brother I went to Mexico, and when I 
came back to New York I had sunk to the lowest depths. 
Can you say 4 forgive,’ now , George ? ” 

Great beads of perspiration stood on General Clive’s 
white forehead. 

44 1 forgot,” said Rodman, rousing himself again with 
difficulty. 44 1 think I can undo a little of the evil 
Yesterday, I parted with a girl, who, if she is not youi 
child, is your wife come to life again.” 


AT WINCHESTER. 321 

“ Where ? ” cried General Cliye and Rex, simulta- 
neously. 

“ Down on a plantation, with a Quaker family,” said 
Rodman. “ Brave and plucky like you, George. She 
helped me off.” 

“ You are the spy, Rogers? ” cried Rex. 

“How did you know? — yes,” said the other, more and 
more faintly. “ They call her Daisy Russell ; she was at 
your brother’s ; 1 saw her there, myself. George,” plead- 
ingly, and with a pitiful groping of his hands, — “ can’t 
you say it, now ? She would.” 

General Clive found his voice at last, as he knelt down 
and took the clammy hand. 

“ Yes, Dan, for the sake of her you wronged, and the 
old college days. And — and — I thank you for the in- 
formation of my child.” 

u He thanks me,” said Rodman, wonderingly. “ George 
— good old George — I wish — I hadn’t ” — 

Silence now. General Clive laid the dead spy down, 
and the others turned away. Presently he came over 
where Rex and Private Slocum were standing. 

“ I think I must be getting on where I can find a sur- 
geon,” he said, laying his hand on Rex’s arm and reeling 
a little. u My wound is horribly painful. But, before 
we go, do you think we can mark this place ? I’d like 
to have him buried decently.” 

Private Slocum “ guessed ” he could do it, and he went 
back accordingly ; and upon his return they mounted 
General Clive, and proceeded onward, slowly, for it was 
with the greatest difficulty that he could retain his seat 
in the saddle. 

Some two miles further on they came across an am- 
bulance and some nurses of the Sanitary Commission, 
21 


522 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


and but just in time, too, for immediately upon being laid 
in the ambulance, General Clive lost all consciousness. 
Rex, however, would not leave him, but accompanied 
him all the way to Winchester, where the surgeons trans- 
ferred him to one of the hospitals. 

But Rex was so concerned at the apparently dangerous 
state of the General’s wound, that he hardly had time to 
ask for the details of the battle ; he was only aware of 
a general sense of delight and triumph over a victory. 
Once in the hospital, upon a bed, and attended by a 
quiet, capable-looking nurse, he felt that he could leave 
General Clive, but before doing so, Rex begged for a word 
in private with the busy surgeon. 

“ It ’s bad business,” said that gentleman, who wa's 
well known to Captain Gray as one of the most skillful 
professional men in the army. “ That arm will have to 
come off ; if I had seen it twelve hours ago, I might 
have saved it. Now it is impossible, and I shall give 
him chloroform immediately and have it over ; the sooner 
the better for the patient.” 

“ I will tell him,” Rex said, with a sorrowful face. 
Tired, faint, hungry, and footsore as he was, the brave- 
hearted fellow never once thought of himself, as he went 
back to the bedside and broke the news to General Clive. 
There was a quick, hard breath — a shudder which shook 
:he soldier’s whole frame ; then he grasped Rex’s hand 
and turned his face to the wall. 

“ Let it go — soon,” he said briefly. 

The operation was over at last, and the surgeon nodded 
with a face of satisfaction, and promised that the General 
would “ do nicely,” and Rex was just beginning to real- 
ize that the smell of chloroform was desperately naus& 
ating, when a gentle hand was laid on his shoulder, and 


AT WINCHESTER. 


323 


R vobe, all quivering with suppressed feeling, said softly, 
44 Rex — my dear, dear boy ! ” 

And springing up, Rex thought he had never seen so 
tender and beautiful a smile as that which lit up his 
father’s noble face, and with a sob that was boyish in its 
homesickness, he laid his chestnut curls beside the silver 
ones. 

44 Father, O father ! I’m so glad you’ve come ! ” 

Judge Gray used to declare, laughingly, afterward, 
that Rex took the only dry handkerchief he had, to 
which the Captain made retort that that was impossible, 
because he had only two wet ones ! 

It was like a bit of home to the brave young officer, 
and he cared not a whit if the whole army had been 
present ; he would have wept on his father’s shoulder all 
the same. You see he had not outgrown Regie’s warm, 
loving heart ; I am afraid he never will. 

So his father carried him off to the quarters where 
he was staying, and got a meal ready for him, and sat 
by him while he ate it, hardly taking his eyes off his 
recovered treasure all the while. How they did talk, to 
be sure ! If Judge Gray had much to say, he also had 
much to hear, and it would be vain to describe his emo- 
tions when he learned that to the child whom his own 
benevolence had befriended he owed, in all probability, 
the safety of his only son. 

44 And so that was General Clive,” said he, as Rex, 
after a hurried story, wound up with that information. 
44 You have kept your word, Rex ; you’ve found Mar- 
jorie’s father, or (what ’s far better) her little self, for 
13. And yet I do believe I shall have to go down and 
oring her home myself; how will that do? But now, 
lay deal* young Paladin and cavalier of distressed dam* 


324 


marj Okie's quest. 


Bels, I’m not sure but that you need a great deal of 
looking after yourself ; that cut on your head must have 
been a bad one. You will be pleased to take yourself to 
bed and to sleep ; really, Rex, I am beginning to think 
there is nothing half so delightful as a blanket and the 
hard ground to sleep on. What will Aunt Rachel do 
with such demoralized folk when we go home ? Good- 
night, my boy.” 

But long after Rex’s blue eyes were closed, his father 
sat beside him, looking lovingly at every feature, and 
thanking God for bringing his darling boy safe through 
the perils of war. 


FOUND. 


825 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

FOUND. 

mHE first thing in the morning Rex went down to the 
hospital to see General Clive, and, to his infinite re- 
gret, he did not find him as well as he had hoped. The 
Burgeon did not seem discouraged, however, but perempt- 
orily forbade all exciting topics of conversation, and the 
poor patient was forced to content himself with the as- 
surance from Rex that it was “all right about Marjorie,” 
and take his sentence of perfect quietude with what pa- 
tience he could muster. 

Rex himself was in rampant spirits, and all the old 
merry mischief danced in his blue eyes, as his father and 
he went about together, arm in arm. 

“Wasn’t it enough to make a fellow just crazy for 
joy ” thought Rex, as he looked proudly at his hand- 
some father. “ A great big victory won by our arm of 
the service ; back again safely, with a pretty sound 
head, considering the hole that confounded trooper made 
in it ; my dear father here ; General Clive turns up in 
a sufficiently romantic manner ; and Madge, my little 
Madge ” — a boyish flush crossed Rex’s bronzed face — 
perhaps it is hardly fair to ask the cause of it. 

Some days passed before the surgeon would allow 
Judge Gray to see General Clive. When they did meet, 
at last, each conceived a hearty liking and admiration 
for the other ; on General Clive’s side there was grati- 
tude too deep for words. Indeed, the few that he did 
tttter agitated him so much that Judge Gray skillfully 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


£*26 

turned the subject, by giving the General a succinct ao 
count of Mr. Wylder’s letter, and of his interview with 
Mr. Percy Clive. 

“You do not think there can be a doubt of her iden 
tity ? ” said General Clive, after hearing all this. 

“Hardly,’’’ the Judge said, smiling brightly. “I car 
tell better when I see the child again. There is much 
for her to explain, even yet, about her disappearance 
from Mrs. Wylder’s. Rex has always declared that 
Horace Wylder had more to do with it than at first ap- 
peared, but I hope that may be only one of his preju- 
dices. His acquaintance with Horace was not calculated 
to inspire him with any great liking for the boy,” and 
J udge Gray laughed, remembering the scene when Regie 
“ spoke his mind ; ” “ but he ought to forget that now. 
Poor Wylder has had great trouble with his son ; I un- 
derstand that Horace is a perfect sot, and I heard, a few 
days since, that his father had been obliged to send him 
to the Asylum for Inebriates.” 

General Clive interrupted him by glowing praises of 
Rex, for whom he had the utmost admiration, and Judge 
Gray’s eyes were moist as he thanked him. 

“ He is a good fellow — at least we are very proud 
of him at home. But I began that last long sentence 
meaning to ask you if you would let me go down to the 
Valley and see this Daisy Russell. Rex is very positive 
that she is Marjorie, but I want to look for myself ; I 
think I should recognize the child I carried on my knee 
that December morning.” 

“ Let you ! ” exclaimed General Clive. “ I have been 
longing to beg you to go in my stead, and wondering if 
l dared to ask such a favor. I am tied here,” with ? 
glance at the maimed arm, “ and the surgeon tells me 


FOUND. 


327 


that when I can be moved it must be to go home, and 
I have been chafing for two days over my enforced inac- 
tivity. But it hardly seems right to ask you ; could not 
Percy go instead ? ” 

“ I will telegraph for your brother to come to you, if 
you wish,” said Judge Gray. “ Indeed, I do not think 
you ought to stay here alone after my departure. But I 
can’t delegate to anybody my journey after little Marjo- 
rie — not even her uncle. She took a long journey very 
recently, at night, for my nearest and dearest ” — the 
Judge’s voice shook, “ and I must thank her for it.” 

The two gentlemen talked on until Rex and the nurse 
came back, the one to carry his father off, and the other 
to forbid her patient talking any more that morning. 

So the Judge went away, promising to look in again 
before he started, and receiving permission from General 
Clive to send for his brother Percy to accompany him on 
his journey North, as soon as he was able to take it. Rex 
was delighted when he found that his father had deter- 
mined to go down to the Frosts’, and declared his inten- 
tion of getting leave of absence for two days, to go with 
him. 

“ Indeed ! ” said the Judge, teasingly. “ Pray, what 
do you want to go for ? Don’t you think I’m ol’d enough 
to be trusted alone?” 

“No, sir,” said Rex — “ not in Virginia. Alone ? You 
don’t suppose I mean to let you start off by yourself ? 
The woods are infested with Mosby’s guerrillas, and I 
don’t want you to have a reversion of my recent chance 
for the Bibby. I shall obtain leave from Sheridan to 
take a handful of men as escort — if I have to tell him 
the whole story.” 

“ Very well ; the troopers will take care of me. Hadn’t 
you better stay with General Clive ? He requires care.’ 


828 


MARJORIE'S QUEST. 


“ Then the nurse may look after him,” said Rex, catch- 
ing his father’s mischievous eye. “ You want a guide, 
don’t you ? And besides, I haven’t thanked Madge prop- 
erly yet.” 

“ O ! ” said the Judge, significantly, as Rex turned 
away wondering what had come over him to be bothered 
with such very inconvenient blushes at precisely the 
wrong moment. 

To return to our little heroine. Friend Hicks and 
Marjorie found no difficulty in getting away from the 
rebel camp, after identifying Rex ; indeed the General 
dismissed them hastily, wishing to snatch a few moments’ 
sleep before the attack on the Federal lines, which began 
at daybreak. The ride back was far easier than the first 
had been, and they made it much more rapidly than they 
did at night. But now that the excitement was over, and 
the necessity of keeping up less pressing, Marjorie began 
to realize how many hours she had been in the saddle, 
and it was a very weary, white face that greeted Aunt 
Debby as she came flying out on the piazza in answer to 
Puck’s cry of, “ Hallo ! Here ’s Miss Daisy an’ Cousin 
Lemuel — O ! why didn’t you bwing Captain Wex ? ” 

“ Thee’d better put that child in bed, Debby,” said 
Friend Hicks, as Marjorie faltered out that “ it was all 
right — we were in time.” “ She ’s had just about as 
much as she can stand ; I’ll tell thee the whole story.” 

Aunt Debby agreed with him, and the procession (con- 
sisting of Posy, the repentant Dora, and Aunt Debby) 
carried the tired girl up-stairs, and literally put her to 
bed, dosing her with all sorts of delicious compounds, be- 
mg under the impression that she must be starving. 

But whatever schemes of moving and packing Aunt 
Debby might have entertained, they were speedily put tc 


FOUND. 


329 


flight by a most mal-apropos visit from a party of guer- 
rillas. Fortunately for the household of women, they did 
not seem to be evilly disposed men, except as far as plun- 
der went. Everything that they could lay hands on, of a 
portable character, they carried away. How Aunt Debby 
and Cato congratulated themselves upon having buried 
some of the old china and the two silver tea-sets under 
a tree down by the cabins ! Grandma put all her valu- 
able papers in her pocket, and sat calmly erect in her 
straight-backed chair while the work of pillage was going 
on, so composed that even the rough men, after lounging 
into the room where she sat, went out again, thereby leav- 
ing unmolested Puck and Posy’s silver cups which were 
in the side-board drawer. 

The guerrillas spent the day lounging about the place, 
killing the chickens and geese, slaughtering one of the 
pigs, and teasing and bullying those of the negroes who 
had not taken refuge in the woods at the first alarm of 
their approach. 

“Well!” said Aunt Debby, after watching their vis- 
itors out of sight, sitting down with Posy on her knee, 
and looking around the room with a rueful countenance at 
the demoralized appearance of her household gods, “ it 
might have been worse, I suppose ; but I do wish they 
had let Aunt Frost’s best bonnet alone. That nasty 
guerrilla captain made a cocked hat of it.” 

A shout of laughter, started by Dora and Marjorie, at 
this novel use of grandma’s bonnet, interrupted her ; and 
after gazing blankly at the merry faces of the two girls 
for a moment, she began to laugh herself. 

“We might as well laugh as cry, eh, girls ? But he 
did, I assure you, a.:d it was mighty becoming to his dirty 
face and red beard. The worst of it is that I don’t know 
what Aunt Frost’ll do without it, travelling." # 


m 


MARJORIE’S QUESf. 


“ Hunt up the old one, Debby,” said grandma, joining 
ai 1 lie fun. “ Thee ought to rejoice that the old house 
is not burned down about our ears, instead of lamenting 
my best bonnet.” 

“ I did thank the Lord about the silver,” said Aunt 
Debby. “Puck, come out of that glass of apple-jelly , 
they’ve taken all the rest — cleaned us pretty well out. 
Well! we’ll try to scrape up enough to eat for two days 
more, even if we have to call on the neighbors for help. 
Mercy, I can’t sit here fooling. Daisy, come and help 
me clear up the kitchen ; I expect Chloe is in the depths 
of despair.” 

The next day was spent in packing. Puck and Posy 
thought it was great fun, and, as Aunt Debby said, 
u were under somebody’s feet the whole during time,” 
and up to all sorts of mischief, particularly Posy, upon 
whom the mantle seemed to have descended suddenly. 
After divers small acts of naughtiness, she was warned 
not to go near the top tray of Aunt Debby ’s trunk. Posy 
intended to be obedient (for she was a good little maid 
at heart), but a tempting glimpse of some bright blue 
beads proved too much for her resolution. She did not 
do much harm in looking at them, to be sure, and as 
Aunt Debby ’s back was turned, she thought she might 
venture to touch one. But Aunt Debby whisked around 
suddenly, and poor Posy started in such a fright that she 
knocked a goblet full of water off the table at her elbow, 
and over it went, splash, into the tray, With many tears, 
the small sinner confessed that she had been naughty 
enough to touch the blue beads, and, for the disobedience, 
Amnt Debby announced that she should whip her. Now 
whipping was the one punishment that Posy disliked espe- 
cially, and it invariably roused her temper to its hottest 


FOUND. 331 

pitch (to do Aunt Debby justice, she seldom resorted to 
it) ; but to-day she resisted all Posy’s pleading, and car- 
ried the culprit off into her own room, and fulfilled her 
promise. 

Marjorie, hearing the shrieks, came flying out of her 
room and found Puck sitting abjectly on the floor in front 
of the door, sobbing bitterly, “ ’cause Aunt Debby was 
whipping poor dear little Posy.” Marjorie tried in vain 
to comfort him ; but when at last the door opened and 
the little sinner came forth, she was by no means in a 
subdued frame of mind, as a fragment of the conversa- 
tion which took place between the pair proved to Aunt 
Debby and Marjorie. 

“I just — hate Aunt Debby!” cried Posy, between 
her sobs, “ She ’s a bad — cruel — aunt; an’ I don’t love 
her one bit ! ” 

“ Never mind, dear,” said Puck, in a consoling voice, 
too loyal to his aunt to concur in this sweeping condem- 
nation, but feeling that Posy needed to be comforted. 

Never mind, dear. She don’t know any better ! ” 

“ Just hear him ! ” whispered Aunt Debby ; and Mar- 
jorie and she had their laugh out, in the closet „ 

Late in the afternoon as Marjorie came down from the 
garret, where she had been packing up some household 
matters for Aunt Debby, she was startled by a sound of 
horses’ feet, and thinking that it might be a second edition 
of their friends, the guerrillas, she ran down into Dora’s 
room to tell her so. But Dora was not there, and as she 
reached the hall, Aunt Debby’s voice, in tones of sup- 
pressed excitement, called her from the stairs. 

“ Daisy ! come right down, quick ! ” 

Regardless of the fact that her long fair hair had fallen 
down about her shoulders, ani thinking from the call 


332 


MARJORIE S QUEST. 


that her presence was so urgently desired that she could 
not stop to pin it up, Marjorie obeyed. There was a 
6ound of voices in the west parlor ; and as she crossed the 
lull she saw a bright handsome face looking eagerly at 
her. With an exclamation of pleasure she walked rapidly 
toward Rex, but before she reached him a half-merry, 
very tender voice, said suddenly, — 

44 Marjorie ! Have you forgotten me ? ” 

The effect was electric. Every vestige of color died 
out of her face ; she trembled violently, and passed her 
hand across her forehead as if just awaking from a deep 
sleep. 

“Marjorie? ” she said, slowly — “ yes, that was my 
name! And you,” — a joyous cry as she sprang for- 
ward into Judge Gray’s open arms — 44 you are the man 
who taught me 4 The Night before Christmas ’ — but I 
don’t know your name.” 

44 Think again,” said the merry voice. 

44 I can’t,” she said, bursting into tears. “But this ” 
— putting out her hand — 44 this is Regie ! O, Regie, 
Regie ! Why didn’t you tell me before ? Why didn’t I 
know you ? ” 

u It must have been that bandage,” said Rex, with such 
a comical face of perplexity that Marjorie was fain to 
laugh. “ But I knew you, Madge,” and his voice was a 
triumphant one. 

“ It ’s all coming back,” said she, clinging to Judge 
Gray. “ I remember the snow and the big cloak. And 
Barney said, 4 It ’s his honor ’ — O ! ” — seizing his hands 
— 44 Judge Gray, dear Judge Gray, I know you now 
What has been the matter with me all these years? 
And she looked appealingly from one to the other. 

44 That ’s for you to tell us, my dear,” said Judge Gray 


FOUND. 


333 


leating her in a comer of the sofa. “ You and Regie may 
talk it over, while I go and explain to Mrs. Frost what we 
crazy people are talking about,” and crossing the room, 
J udge Gray sat down by grandma’s chair, and with Aunt 
Debby and Dora in front of him endeavored to give a 
short account of what had brought him down to their 
house in this abrupt way. 

“ It certainly was the bandage,” said Marjorie, look- 
ing at Rex gravely ; so gravely that his eyes danced more 
mischievously than ever. “ If you had looked as you do 
now that day when Cato brought you home, I should have 
known you anywhere. Regie.” 

“ No, you wouldn’t,” said he. “ It was all papa. I’m 
jealous of him — upon my word I am.” 

“ Now, Regie,” said she, in the old coaxing, half timid 
voice, “ you know better. But I couldn’t remember my 
own name, even. How did you ever find me out ? ” 

“ Look at that,” said Rex, briefly, putting a picture in 
her hand. “ You haven’t altered at all. Madge — 
you’re my ” — and there Rex stopped, bungled, and grew 
red. Perhaps it wouldn’t do to call her “ his yellow- 
haired darling ” now . 

“ It does look like me,” cried Marjorie. “ But was 
that all ? ” 

“No, there were half a dozen things. At first I 
couldn’t think who you kept reminding me of ; then, one 
day, it came over me with a flash. Do you know how ? 
I’ll tell you. It was when Posy said you had a doll named 
Seraphina ! ” — 

“ Regie ! And you gave it to me, and there was the 
Christmas tree, and Lily,” — cried Marjorie, half wild 
with the flood of memory wh’ch came pouring in upon 
her. “ And who has Seraphina, now ? I can’t remem- 
ber.” 


834 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ Meta. Mrs. Wylder gave her to me, and Meta said 
you once told her — well ! ” for his companion turned 
quite white, and leaned back in her seat. “ Have I said 
anything I ought not ? ” 

“ O no,” she said, recovering herself. “ I remember 
it all ; or it seems to me that I do. There was a dark 
room,” — slowly, like a bhnd person, groping her way 
into the past, — “ and Horace locked me in with Hyder, 
the dog. Didn’t I climb up to the window ? Yes. 
Regie ! ” with a frightened move a little closer to the tall 
soldier, “ the dog jumped, and I fell. And then there 
was old Moll ; wasn’t it then ? ” 

“ I always knew that confounded sneak had more to 
do with your loss than he would own,” cried Rex. 
“ Father, just listen, Madge remembers about the night 
she left the WylderS’.” But it was not until some days 
after that she could tell them a connected story; just 
now, the poor child only laid her weary little head against 
Judge Gray’s shoulder, and begged him not to ask — her 
mind was so confused. 

“ You shall not be teased with another question,” said 
he, “ but I think Rex has a piece of news for you. I 
.promised him he should tell his own story.” 

“ I’ve kept my promise, Madge, that ’s all,” said Rex, 
as the soft eyes turned toward him quickly. “ Do you 
remember what it was ? That night before you went to 
the Asylum I told you that when I was a man I’d try tc 
Ind your father ; and — well ! Ive kept my word” 

“ My father ? ” 

Only two words, but the lovely smiling mouth, the 
touching gratitude of Marjorie’s eyes — Rex felt that he 
Had all the thanks he wanted. 

“Take her off to your sofa again,” said Judge Gray 


FOUND. 385 

releasing her. “ But don’t tire her — those cheeks are 
almost as pale as the ones I remember six years ago.” 

“ Tire ! ” said Marjorie, and then she went contentedly 
away. 

Aunt Debby slipped off, by and by, to get up such a 
Bupper as her limited larder would permit for the trav- 
ellers, leaving Judge Gray to make acquaintance with 
grandma. As Rex had fancied, his father and Mrs. 
Frost were delighted with each other. It took the dear 
old lady back to olden times to see Judge Gray’s dress- 
coat (which he never laid aside for any other fashion), 
his ruffled shirt and diamond pin — it only needed the 
knee-breeches and silk stockings to transform him into a 
gentleman of the old school such as grandma remembered. 
Quakeress as she was, she dearly loved the old courtly 
manners, and they were part and parcel of Judge Gray’s 
nature ; he could no more have laid them aside than he 
could have dispensed with his silver curls. 

Puck and Posy were fascinated with this, their last 
acquaintance, and Puck’s heart was won by Judge Gray’s 
admiration of Blot. The Judge had both dog and mas- 
ter upon his knee in a twinkling, whereupon ensued the 
following conversation : 

“ You’re the boy who knows how to keep his promise, 
ure you not ? ” said Judge Gray. 

“ Yes,” said Puck, modestly, wondering why the merry 
eyes grew dim suddenly. “ Captain Wex said I was a 
newo. I don’t think it was me; I think it was Blot, 
cause he never cwied, an’ I did — awfully ! ” 

“There. are two of them, then,” said Judge Gray, 
patting Blot, as that sagacious animal licked his hand 
affectionately. 

“ Well, I suppose heroes are something like other boys. 
Puck. Do you like fifes, and swords, and drums ? ” 


336 


MARJORIE'S QUEST. 


“Dwums?” said Puck, gravely. “Wather think I 
do ! an’ I’ve been wantin’ a dwum for more’n a year 
now — an’ I don’t care who gives it to me, either, so I get 
it!” 

The hearty ringing laugh that answered this frank 
statement reached Aunt Debby’s ears out in the kitchen, 
and she smiled involuntarily at its mirthful sound. 

“ You shouldn’t ought to have said that, me dear,” 
said Posy, looking sober, and bobbing her head very fast 
at the culprit. 

“ I only telled the twuth,” said Puck, in nowise dis- 
concerted. “ Haven’t got it in your twunk, have you ? ” 

Judge Gray was obliged to confess that his remark 
had been made only in a general sense, but added that a 
drum of the finest description could be found in Philadel- 
phia, and he rather thought that a boy named Puck 
should have it. And that night, as they were going to 
bed, Puck confided to Posy that, “ It wasn’t any wonder 
Captain Wex was such a gwand Yankee soldier, ’cause 
you see, he ’s got such a butiful papa ! ” 

Rex and Marjorie had so much to say to each other 
that supper was a sad interruption. A conversation 
which begun with such an exciting announcement as that 
of having found her father, and continued with little 
digressions of u 0, do you remember ? ” was not likely 
to be finished for some days, and Rex did by no means 
thank Dora for pinning him to a corner for half the 
evening where he watched Marjorie talking with his 
father. 

It seemed like a dream to Marjorie to hear that her 
father — the dear father whom she had longed for during 
aer lonely childhood — was not many miles distant ; how 
jould she wait and go North before seeing him ? 


FOUND 


337 

Bui; Judge Gray liad a little plan of his own which he 
wanted to carry out, as he had told Rex. This was 
nothing more nor less than that the long-parted parent 
and child should meet at Craignest, whither General 
Clive expected to go by easy stages, with his brother. 
The plan had met with Rex’s hearty approval ; there was 
a spice of poetic justice in giving the child back to her 
father inside the walls from whence she had been so 
cruelly turned away and thrown out upon the wide world. 

“ Can’t you trust yourself to me ? ” said Judge Gray, 
as Marjorie prayed to be allowed to go directly to hei 
father. “ General Clive is far from well ; I do not want 
you to see him until he can bear the excitement. 

“ 111 ? ” cried she in great alarm. “ You never told 
me that.” 

“He was badly wounded. And, Marjorie, he has 
given an arm for his country.” 

Her eyes shone like diamonds. “ My dear brave 
father ! He will need both of mine.” 

“And so, Marjorie dear, you’ll try and be as patient 
as he is, and travel North with us, will you not ? ” 

She gave a dismayed exclamation. 

“We were all going the day after to-morrow,” said 
she. “ Do you think it would be right to leave them — 
the children, I mean, and good Aunt Debby ? ” She 
Bpoke louder than she intended, and was overheard. 

“ What ’s that, Daisy — dear me, will I ever remembei 
chat that isn’t your name, I wonder ? Don’t you be 
fretting yourself about that journey ; how many years did 
t take care of those children before you ever saw ’em ? 
Not but that I’d be glad, precious glad, to have your 
iear little face at my elbow, and your willing hands — 
Dless my stars ! ” Aunt Debby pulled herself up in her 


838 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


speech with a sudden start, as a salt drop rolled down the 
point of her nose, and splashed down on her hand. u I do 
believe I’m crying ! Did you ever see such an old fool ? ’ 
And here she took refuge behind her handkerchief, and 
gave two genuine sobs, which made Dora stare with 
amazement, and brought Marjorie ’s soft lips on her 
wrinkled forehead. 

“ There ! that ’s the end of it,” said she, briskly, re- 
turning the kiss with several hearty ones. u It isn’t 
often, child, that I take such a fancy to anybody as I’ve 
taken to you. What I wanted to say was, that you 
mustn’t think of such a thing as staying here a minute 
longer. Judge Gray, you just keep that girl from saying 
another word about it ; my mind ’s made up. It isn’t as 
if we were going to stay down in Virginia. We shall be 
in Philadelphia (or thereabouts), and we shall see you 
frequently, Daisy ; so you just get ready in the morning 
and go — and the Lord go with you ! ” wound up Miss 
Debby, abruptly, becoming conscious of a rapid moisten 
ing of her eyelashes. 

“That’s right; push her out,” said Judge Gray, 
merrily. He enjoyed Aunt Debby thoroughly, and ap- 
preciated the sterling qualities and kindly heart hidden 
away beneath her terse, sharp sentences, and brusque 
manner. 

Rex growled mentally at the multitude of things which 
kept Marjorie so busy that he “ couldn’t speak a word to 
ber,” and was by no means amiably disposed toward Dora, 
who endeavored to take the entertaining of their hand- 
some guest into her own hands. Somehow, Dora had 
gotten over her dislike for the Yankees in a wonderfully 
udden manner. 

And so Marjorie bade good-by to the plantation, con 


FOUND. 


839 


loling herself h y the thought that she should see all of 
the family again, at the North, and perhaps welcome 
them at her father’s own house. Puck and Posy were 
inconsolable, and openly lamented their favorite’s depart- 
ure, drawing comparisons between her and Dora which 
were by no means flattering to the latter, very much to 
Rex’s secret amusement. But it was a very April face 
that said good-by, notwithstanding all Marjorie’s resolu- 
tions, and Rex whispered reproachfully in her ear as they 
rode away, “So you don’t want to go, Madge ? Perhaps 
you wish I had never come ? ” 

The indignant glance she gave him, and the shy, pretty 
blush that followed it a moment later, afforded Captain 
Rex the most intense satisfaction. 

The night before they left Baltimore Marjorie received 
a letter from Virginia, — her cousin Virginia, as she rap- 
turously thought. Such a sweet letter ; just like Vir- 
ginia’s dear self : — 

“We are off for New York to-night ” (wrote Virginia, 
after telling all her amazement and delight over a letter 
from Uncle Percy which had given them the strange story 
of Marjorie’s parentage), “ and from there on to Craig- 
nest, where Uncle George must be, by this time. He 
passed through here the day before yesterday, and O ! 
he looks ten years younger — notwithstanding the loss of 
his arm. He never seemed to remember that, Daisy ; he 
was so taken up with the thought of his little daughter. 
I cried, Daisy — cried like a goose, when I saw him. I 
can’t more than half believe it yet, and I am so sorry 
that Fred won’t be here, with us. He is well, however. 
I am too busy to fret, and aching to see you, darling Little 
cousin. Phebe sends her love ; she has done nothing b it 


340 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


4 Bress de Lord ’ ever since the news came, and she says, 
(with one of her funny sniffs — you remember ?) 4 Can’t 
fool dis chile, Missy Ginny ! Didn’t I allers tell you dat 
li’le missy was a lady born an’ bred ? ’ Papa saj^s, 4 Tell 
Daisy to keep a kiss for me ’ — a dozen, dear, from your 
own loving cousin Virginia.” 

Marjorie cried over that letter. Her smiles and tears 
lay very near each other now, and Judge Gray, seeing 
the April face, was glad when he received the telegram 
he had been expecting from Percy Clive ; and then they 
started directly for Craignest. 

Coming as they did from a southerly direction, their 
route did not lie through Wynn, but at Saybrooke they 
found a carriage waiting for them, and with it old Robert, 

44 Ay, but it’s hersel’, — the bonnie bairn !” cried he, 
the instant Marjorie stepped off the platform. 44 Come 
back to her ain, just as the auld master meant she should. 
God bless your bonnie face ! ” 

J udge Gray hurried her into the carriage ; he could 
feel the slight form tremble, and he did not wish to have 
ner upset before she reached her journey’s end. So Rex 
and he talked lively, merry nonsense, and the ride did 
not seem a long one ; indeed, Marjorie, in the gathering 
darkness, did not see when they turned the gate posts, or 
know that they were near Craignest until the carriage 
Btopped. 

44 Here she is,” said Judge Gray’s happy voice, as he 
lame up the steps. Virginia’s arms were around Marjo- 
rie’s neck, and she was laughing and crying all in a 
breath, as she bore her on through the hall into the small 
parlor. 

44 Don’t look so wild, my darling,” said she, taking off 


FOUND. 


MX 

her hat, and smoothing her soft, bright hair. “ Uncle 
George isn’t here — nobody must look at her or speak to 
her for just a moment.” 

But as her eyes grew accustomed to the light, Marjorie 
arose from her chair, and her face changed rapidly from 
red to pale, then red again. 

“ See ! ” she cried breathlessly, catching hold of Judge 
Gray. “ There is the bird — the queer, gray bird over 
the door, which I remember ; and this is the room where 
the old man was — the man who .pushed me away, and 
made mamma cry : O ! why have you brought me here ? ” 

Virginia gave a startled glance upward at the stuffed 
eagle who presided with spread wings oyer the door, but 
before she could reply, an eager voice said, “ Marjorie ! — 
my child ! ” 

Marjorie did not see that the several strange figures in 
the room moved aside to let her pass — she stood chained 
to the spot as General Clive came down the room. Was 
that her father ? that tall, grand-looking man, with his 
empty coat-sleeve pinned across his broad breast ? Her 
eyes travelled upward until they rested on the pale 
smiling face, and met the gaze of the loving eyes, and 
then, with one long-drawn sob of perfect joy, Marjorie’s 
juest was ended as she was clasped to her fathei’a heart. 


H42 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE RED CROSS KNIGHT’S REWARD. 

I T was early May at Craignest. The wild floweis were 
springing up through the turf, and the birds were 
singing in the maple boughs, trilling a joyous song for 
Marjorie, as she sat in the window, her hands folded in 
her lap, and a quiet, dreamy smile on her sweet lips. 

It had been such a happy winter, although passed 
chiefly at Craignest, varied by one long visit in Phila- 
delphia at Mr. Selden Clive’s. What did Marjorie care 
for the banks of snow outside which sometimes rose 
nearly to the study windows, when she sat on her father’s 
knee smoothing away the furrows from his handsome 
face by her playful talk, or sitting by the old-fashioned 
piano upon which her grandmother (another Marjorie 
Clive) had played, singing to him in that plaintive voice 
of her’s which he thought the sweetest he had ever heard, 
save one. 

After the first excitement of finding his child was over, 
General Clive had been seriously ill, and Marjorie had made 
her uncle Percy’s acquaintance at his bedside. Uncle 
Percy and she were great friends now, and it was he who 
had added the weight of his persuasions to Marjorie’s 
when the question of General Clive’s resigning the army 
had been started. Marjorie felt that she could never 
bear the suspense of his absence, were he well enough to 
attempt active service again, and when she told him so, 
frying hard to keep back the tears, her father sent for his 
desk, and playfully ordered hfr to write his resignation 


THE BED CROSS KNIGHT'S REWARD. 


843 


immediately, lest he should change his mind. How he 
spoiled her ! If the sweet sound nature had had a taint 
of selfishness in it, Marjorie would have lost her greatest 
charm, but her father’s indulgent fondness only made her 
more lovely. He would have draped her in silks and 
velvets, and hung jewels in her little pink ears and 
around her fair throat if she had cared for the display, 
but when, one day, he said something of the sort, she 
only laughed merrily. “ You must ask Virginia to teach 
me how to play la grande dame” she said. “ Why, 
papa, you wouldn’t know me in anything but my brown 
merinoes. And what do I want of jewels up here at 
Craignest ? For the snow-birds and you, O, you foolish 
papa ! W ould I be any dearer to you in a silk dress — 
if so, let me have one, by all means.” 

“You needn’t think you will get off that way, miss,” 
Baid General Clive, pretending to frown at her as she 
nestled down on his knee, “ for I sent carte blanche to 
Virginia last night, and an order of my own to Tiffany. 
Do you suppose I’m going to introduce you in Philadel- 
phia in a brown merino ? No, I’ll keep those for my 
home-bird, my little thrush who has gladdened my heart 
all winter.” 

Her heiress-ship was the hardest fact of all for Mar- 
jorie to become accustomed to ; she made so few demands 
for money, and her wants were so simple, that General 
Clive, in great distress, one day delivered over a purse 
containing a sum which positively frightened her from 
its liberality, and informed her that the same amount 
would be ready for her every month. Her face of amaze- 
ment was so childishly droll, that her father burst out 
laughing. “ My little Lady Simplicity,” said he, pinch- 
mg her cheek, “ do you suppose that you are to go 


844 


MARJORIE'S QUEST. 


through the world in a poverty-stricken condition ? 
Have you forgotten that you are chatelaine of Craig- 
nest, and may turn me out of doors if I dare disobey 
you ? ” 

“ Papa ! you don’t mean that grandpa ” — Marjorie 
always stumbled over that name — “ grandpa left me 
Craignest, and all that money beside ? ” 

“ I certainly do,” said General Clive, watching the dis- 
mayed face, with secret amusement. 

“ O dear ! ” sighed she, “ what shall I ever do with 
it? I know,” her face brightening ; “it ought to have 
been yours, not mine. I’ll ask Judge Gray to make a 
paper — you needn’t laugh, papa ; I never had anything 
to give away before, so I don’t know the name of it — a 
paper giving it to you. It is not fair to make me rich 
and you ” — 

“ Poor,” finished General Clive. “ I’m afraid you’ll 
have to support it, my darling. What do you suppose I 
did out in China ? Just because I did not need it (as I 
bitterly thought, in those days), just because I had no 
one to lay it up for, wealth poured in upon me. I 
sha’n’t need your fortune, dear, but I’ll never forget 
vour offer of it.” 

So Marjorie was fain to content herself, and managed 
to make a hole in the contents of her purse by playing 
Lady Bountiful to all the poor people round about, pleas- 
ing old Robert and Mrs. Mackensie by making them her 
almoners. 

But she did shine in Philadelphia, to her proud father's 
delight, and her shy, graceful manners seemed wonder- 
fully attractive to very many people. The romance of 
her story, and the gilded charms of General Clive’s 
wealth, were sufficient to make a sensation in the gav 


THE RED CROSS KNIGHT'S REWARD. 


345 


world, and there was no lack of partners or bouquets at 
the few parties which she attended with Virginia. But 
somehow, the “ stay-at-home ” legion were not very 
attractive to the gentle little heiress, and she used to 
draw a quiet comparison between some of the be-whis- 
kered, elegant youths around her and a certain tall sol- 
dier, who was never handsomer and more manly than in 
his neat blue uniform — rather to the detriment of the 
gallant carpet-knights aforesaid. 

All through the winter, every week or so, letters came 
to Craignest, addressed to Marjorie, in a bold hand ; let- 
ters, with various post-marks, and whose regularity mad o 
General Clive smile. She used to read them aloud to 
her father with such genuine pride in the writer, and 
such child-like satisfaction because he did not “forget 
her,” that the General was puzzled. But of late he 
noticed that the last half page was sometimes left un- 
read — to him ! so he drew his own conclusions and re- 
frained from even a shadow of teasing. 

And now May was here, and there was a sound of 
rejoicing all over the land, because of that 3d of April 
when Weitzel’s Corps marched into Richmond singing 
how John Brown’s soul went “ marching on ! ” Too 
Boon after came the nation’s tears for the Martyr Presi- 
dent, over whose sad story Marjorie had wept so bitterly. 
Even on this May morning there was a tinge of sadness 
in the smile with which she watched the robins singing 
in the maples, — a little pathetic thought of the house- 
hold that was so sad while her own was happy. 

“ A whole penny for your thoughts, little daughter? ” 
said her father’s voice,, as he pulled aside the curtain 
which overhung the window and looked at her. 

“ They ar? nf worth it, I’m afraid,” she said, ending 


346 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


“ Letters ! O, papa, I didn’t know there had been anothei 
post since Robert came in.” 

“ Nor has there,” said he ; “I went myself, on Sultan, 
and kept you waiting. Read your letters, Marjorie; 1 
have several of my own here.” 

“ A whole bundle,” cried Marjorie, surveying her let- 
ters delightedly. “ One from good Miss Debby, — a fat 
one, too ; this is Virginia’s, and that ’s J udge Gray’s 
handwriting, and O ! Regie’s letter is post-marked New 
York!” General Clive’s smile was, oddly enough, fol- 
lowed by a little sigh as he watched the shy color come 
and go in the lovely face. 

“ Papa ! Judge Gray says he has written to ask you 
to bring me on there for a little visit, and ” — 

“ You don’t mean that you want to go ? ” said her 
father, mischievously. 

“ To see Grandma Livingston, and Meta, and Miss 
Brooks,” cried Marjorie. “ And you’ve never seen them 
yet, you know, papa. And beside (think what good 
news for dear Judge Gray) Regie has a furlough,” and 
the bright blood which had been tingling in Marjorie’s 
finger-tips rushed into her downcast face and remained 
there, brilliantly. 

“ Judge Gray has given us a very cordial invitation,” 
said General Clive, quietly. “ I meant to take you there 
very soon, for I want to thank all those good people 
who were kind to you when you were a forlorn little 
child. O, Marjorie,” coming close to her, and kissing 
her with the agitation which the recollection of her lonely 
childhood always caused him, “ can I ever be kind and 
tender enough to you to obliterate those painful years ? ’ 

“ Papa, if you say another word like that — what shah 
l do with you ? ” demanded Marjorie. “ As if this win* 
*er were not enough to pay me for everything ? ” 


THE RED CROSS KNIGHT’S REWARD. 


847 


“ Then I shall write to Judge Gray and accept his in 
citation for next week,” said General Clive ; 44 or rather 
will you, little girl ? I don’t get along very well with my 
left hand, or else these willing fingers make me lazy,” 
and he stroked them playfully. 

But, to his surprise, the answer was a hesitating 
44 Yes,” and upon turning Marjorie’s face up to his, he 
saw that her eyes were full of tears. 

44 Haven’t you finished crying for that arm ? ” said he, 
smiling at her, 44 1 have — long ago ! ” 

44 It wasn’t that, exactly,” said Marjorie, faltering a 
little in her speech. 44 1 only thought — that you should 
always have the willing fingers to write for you, dear 
papa.” 

44 Now Madge,” said he, unconsciously calling her by 
Rex’s pet name, as he partly divined her thought, 
44 what crochet has got into this absurd little brain ? Do 
you suppose that I expect to keep my daughter to my- 
Belf all my fife ? Indeed, I’m not so selfish ; I know 
I shall have plenty of petitions to allow somebody or 
other to carry you off, but I’ll make you one promise ” — 

44 Yes, sir,” faltered poor Marjorie, as he paused. 

44 Look at me, you shy child ! There ; I’ll promise 
never to send you away until you want to go : ” and with 
a mischievous laugh General Clive went back to his seat. 

But Marjorie’s cheeks did not grow cool for the rest of 
the morning. 

Miss Debby’s letter was full of news, and very char- 
acteristic. They were getting used to Germantown, she 
said, although it seemed cramped to the children to have 
only a small yard to play in. Grandma was very weL 
and very cheerful-. 

Dora was flirting with two young men ( 44 silly, both 


348 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


of ’em,” was honest Annt Debby’s comment ; “ but it 
pleases her and helps fill up the time, and I shouldn’t 
wonder if it ended in matrimony, even if they are 
Yankees ! ”). 

“ But I miss you, child, and always shall,” concluded 
the letter. “ When you have spare time just let me hear 
how you are, and Judge Gray, and the Captain, and your 
good father. Posy says I must send her letter, which 
Dora has written at her dictation ; it ’s just the child all 
over, so I put it in. May the Lord bless you and yours, 

“ Your affc. friend, 

“Deborah Frost.” 

Posy’s letter was a curiosity, illustrated as it was with 
an original drawing done by the little maid herself. 
Marjorie read it aloud to her father ; they had a hearty 
laugh over it : — 

“ Dear Miss Daisy — Marjorie, — Chloe made 
some cakes on Saturday, and we had a good Sunday, but 
it rained and I licked the bowl. I made a mess with my 
cakes. A black and white pig grunts with short legs. 
I _ have a gray hen with little chickens, one all yellow, 
and Aunt Debby has a new refrigerator. Sometimes I 
have black nails, they are so dirty. Susie is my new 
nurse ; she is white, but not so pretty as Silvy. The 
puppy is dead and we all feel very badly. Charley the 
horse laid on him. Puck is going to look all over for a 
white puppy for me. Blot is black ; we do not like two 
black dogs. Puck sits on the sofa, and when he walks 
he cannot turn his toes out. He finds it difficult with 
his “ R’s” just the same as when you were here. We 
clean our teeth with chalk and water in a cup with blue 
stripes. 


THE RED CROSS KNIGHT'S REWARD. 


849 


The pig that grunts. 

(Here followed the pig’s picture.) 

“ I send my love to Captain Rex and Judge Gray and 
your new papa, and you please come down here and bring 
your old Seraphina. My Seraphina is well. I wear a 
red sash, me dear. 

44 Your devoted lover, 

“ Posy. 

“ That ’s the best letter in your bundle, Marjorie,” said 
General Clive, looking at the pig’s portrait, and laughing 
heartily. “Put me in mind to send Miss Posy a doll 
next week, and add that your 4 new papa ’ claims the 
privilege of naming dolly.” 

General Clive and Marjorie arrived at Judge Gray’s 
early one afternoon the following week. It had been a 
strange journey to Marjorie : she could not help contrast- 
ing it with the time when Mr. Stevens had brought her 
over the same road. How distinctly she remembered 
every incident : how afraid she had been of the great, 
puffing locomotive, and the little girl in the pier-glass. 
She made her father laugh by telling of it. And when 
Judge Gray met them at the train and took them 
straight to his carriage, somebody with a kind, rough 
face, and big, brown hands stood holding the door open. 

44 Barney ! my dear old Barney ! ” and Marjorie had 
her arms around his neck and kissed him before he could 
say a word. 

44 An’ it ’s herself, the darlint,” cried the poor fellow, so 
taken by surprise that he actually sobbed. 44 Margie, it J s 
the same warrum heart yees has — to kiss the loikes av 
me ! An’ its axin yer parding I’d be, sir,” touching his 
hat to General Clive, 44 for calling the young lady by the 


860 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


ould name. It came to me natural ; O, but she ’s the 
picture av her own ould self.” 

“ And why shouldn’t you call me Margie ? ” said she 
“ He was so good to me, papa ; he used to wash and 
dress me sometimes, when Judy was cross. O, I’m ever 
so glad to see you, Barney ; do shake hands with papa.” 

“ I could not persuade him to stay at home and wait 
until you came,” said Judge Gray, as they drove off. 
“ He said he would just go to the cars, ‘ and if Margie 
didn’t care about speaking to the loikes av him, he’d 
never trouble her no more.’ ” 

“You knew better than to suppose such a thing,” said 
she, half indignantly. “ I’m so glad I met him just as I 
did, although papa did look rather shocked at me just at 
first. Dear Barney,” and she had much ado to keep 
back the tears, but the vision of Miss Rachel’s cap-strings 
on the well-remembered steps changed her thoughts just 
in time, and she ran up and kissed that lady affection- 
ately. 

Marjorie was longing to know where Rex was, but some 
unaccountable feeling tied her tongue, and therefore it 
was an immense relief to hear Miss Rachel tell her 
brother that she had a telegram for him from the Cap- 
tain. 

“ All right ; he’ll be here by the next train,” said the 
Judge, running his eye over the dispatch. “ I don’t 
know what you’ll say to me, Marjorie (Rachel, there, 
has been lecturing me all the morning), but the fact is 
I’ve invited some people here to night.” 

“ I think I can support it,” said Marjorie, gayly. “ A 
party ? think of that, papa.” 

“No; only all the family, and your friends here; I 
could not avoid it Marjorie. There was every prospect 


the fed cross knight’s reward. 


351 


that the house would be besieged with an army of callers. 
So I thought the best plan was to let them all come at 
once and have a good look at you. And, after supper, 
will it please your small ladyship to dress ? ” 

“ If you won’t require a ball dress — yes ! ” 

“ If you’ll believe it, Judge,” said General Clive, laugh- 
ing, “ I have the utmost difficulty in inducing that child 
to appear in anything but brown merinoes ” — 

“Papa! you ought to keep our quarrels to yourself. 
J udge Gray, he ’s the most fastidious and notional papa 
that you ever saw.” 

Miss Rachel smiled; Marjorie, with this strange, lovely 
color flickering in her cheeks, her quiet eyes dancing with 
fun, was a new revelation. 

By and by Miss Rachel took Marjorie up-stairs ; not 
to her own old room, but into the front chamber, which 
made the girl feel very old, and guest-like ; and there 
stood Jane courtesying and smiling, very much pleased to 
see her again. 

It was a perfect wonder how Marjorie ever got dressed 
that evening. If the white dress, with its pale-green 
trimmings, which made her look fresh and fair as a sea- 
nymph, was put on gracefully ; if the provoking golden 
hair escaped from its braids and curled up in little rings 
about her forehead in its most bewitching fashion ; if 
the strings of pearls for her neck and arms were for- 
gotten until the last moment, when she had to dive down 
to the very bottom of her trunk to find them, — if these 
details were gone through with mechanical precision and 
finish, Jane must be thanked, not Marjorie. Her head 
was in a whirl, and she scolded herself for her silli- 
ness as she went down-stairs, resolving to grow cool and 
lomposed in the library before submitting herself to her 


352 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


father’s critical eye. But her agitation, whatever caused 
it, died away utterly as her eyes fell upon Rex, leaning 
against the mantel, pulling on his white gloves, and it 
was a very child’s face that smiled up at him quietly, as 
he turned and saw her on the threshold. 

“ Marjorie ! ” Rex had thought over all he would say, 
the arguments he would use, and the humble request he 
would make, all in excellent and fluent English ; but the 
Instant he saw the little vision in white his fine speech 
flew out of his head, and he made two quick steps toward 
her, and looking straight down into her liquid gray eyes, 
Baid, “ Is this my little wife ? ” 

The golden head went down until it rested on the 
broad shoulder, and two soft arms met around some- 
body’s neck, while the shyest voice imaginable whispered 
bo softly that he had to bend his tall head to catch the 
murmur, — 

“ Yes, Regie ! ” 

That was all, for Judge Gray’s voice sounded in the 
hall, and Marjorie, pink and fluttering, disappeared 
through the drawing-room door. 

“ Where ’s yellow-locks ? ” said he, mischievously. 
u In the drawing-room,” said Rex, returning the look 
with one equally mischievous. 

u I thought she’d find you,” said Judge Gray, breaking 
into a merry laugh. “ And, pray, what were you saying 
to her ? ” 

“ Thanking her for her midnight ride,” said Rex, 
saucily. “ I never had a chance to do so before — prop- 
erly!” 

“Indeed? And what did she say to such culpable 
neglect on your part ? ” demanded his father, who had 
been having a private tSte-a-tete with General Clive 
<ipon matters of state. 



“ HER eyes fell upon REX.” 





THE RED CROSS KNIGHT’S REWARD. 


353 


“ Just ask her,” cried Rex, flinging liis arms around 
his father’s neck, and giving him a regular bear’s hug. 
“ I m the happiest and the luckiest fellow in the United 
States, and I’m going to tell General Clive so — there ’s 
Aunt Helen, and Lily.” 

With which discovery Rex was obliged to put his 
raptures in his pocket, and go and make himself agree- 
able to his relatives. 

They were all there — all our old friends ; and as Mar- 
jorie stood beside her father and welcomed them, the 
inconvenient tears were very near her eyes. But Judge 
Gray kept at her side, saying all manner of merry, quiz- 
zical things, and Rex, in his quiet way, warded off all 
meaning looks and allusions, so her trembling was qui- 
eted, and after the first half hour she was able to enjoy 
it all. 

Grandma and Grandpa Livingston were there ; How 
grandma kissed her old favorite, and how pleased she was 
when Rex came behind her chair, by and by, and whis- 
pered a piece of news which made her dear old face beam 
with delight. There were Mrs. Marston and Lily, both 
unchanged, but very smiling and gracious, the former 
lady overwhelming General Clive with compliments upon 
his daughter’s “ grace and beauty ; ” there were all the 
Maxwells ; Clara, with her husband, and Percy, a colonel 
of artillery; kind Miss Brooks, with her portly figure 
and smiling face ; Mrs. Edmund Livingston, pale, deli- 
cate, and lovely as ever, with Meta, our old sunny Meta, 
at her side, who flung her arms around Marjorie’s neck 
ind kissed her so many times that Rex declared he was 
‘jealous. And behind all these came Mr. and Mrs. Wil- 
der. How glad Marjorie was to see them ; how affec- 
tionately she kissed the kind-hearted man who had loved 
33 


854 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


her so well, and, as she asked for Horace, she again 
resolved never to tell his father of his cruelty to her. 
Judge Gray had already done so, but Marjorie did not 
know it. 

They had a most merry evening, and just at the last, 
as Rex had contrived to seat General Clive in a corner 
where he made a modest request for his little daughter’s 
hand, who should arrive but Mr. Stevens. 

“I got home late from court, my dear Judge,” said 
he, “ and found your note on my table, so I had barely 
time to dress and catch the last train up. I wouldn’t 
have missed it for the world. Miss Marjorie! — you 
never can be the pale-faced child who jumped at the 
sight of a locomotive?” 

“ The very same,” said Marjorie, putting her hand 
in his, “ and the happiest little Marjorie you can possibly 
imagine, sir. Where is papa — O,” — with a brilliant 
accession of tell-tale color, as she saw General Clive 
making his way toward her on Rex’s arm ; “ this is Mr. 
Stevens, the gentleman who brought me here.” 

“ Marjorie,” said a mischievous whisper at her elbow, 
as Judge Gray took possession of her. “ I was always 
under the impression that I found a stranger’s child that 
day in the stage-coach: it seems now that I only ran 
across one of my own ! ” 

“ Yes,” said she, catching his merry tone. “ I wonder 
if any girl ever had two such fathers ? ” Then, in a 
touchingly humble voice, “ I’m not half good enough for 
him — Regie, I mean — but — but — he always was the 
dearest, and bravest, and best ” — 

“ Hear, hear ! ” cried a laughing voice from the other 
side of the room. “ We’re going to have some toasts 
and speeches, now. Father, you come first; then Mr 
Stevens says he’ll give us one.” 


THE RED CROSS KNIGHT’S REWARD. 35* 

There was no resisting Rex’s coaxing face, and Judge 
Gray took his wine-glass in liis hand, and said, as a sud- 
den hush fell on all the company : — 

“ ‘ ’Tis quite unusual at my age 
To speak in public on the stage ; ’ 

but if you will have a toast, Rex, I’ll give you one. 
This, then, to the brave young girl who rode twenty 
miles through a Southern forest, at night, into the rebel 
camp, to save the life of a Union officer who was sus- 
pected of being a notorious spy. She has never yet been 
thanked as a father’s heart would thank her — God 
bless Marjorie Clive ! ” 

The story had been well-kept, but as the clan of 
amazed relatives trooped toward the surprised girl, Mr. 
Stevens whispered laughingly in her ear, “ Never mind, 
my dear ; I’ll make it even with him for that,” and he 
marched out into the centre of the room. 

“ Miss Marjorie has not commissioned me to make a 
speech for her,” said he, u but I want to say a few words 
on my own responsibility. You all know the story 
which has brought us together to-night, and further 
comment upon it is unnecessary. I was a passenger in 
the stage-coach on that December morning when our 
uost found a cold, shivering little child, and I was wit- 
ness to his tender care of the little waif and stray. Out 
of the simple kindness, the pure nobility of heart which 
prompted him to care for the poor orphan, great events 
have come; he has himself told you that he owes the 
safety of his only son to that child s bravery and courage. 
\ hope that when all our deeds are proclaimed upon the 
house-tops we may find one among them which will bear 
worthy comparison with this act of unobtrusive benevo- 


856 


MARJORIE’S QUEST. 


lence, and I am sure that every one of you will join me 
in drinking the health of 1 His Honor, Judge Gray ’ ! ” 

“ Too bad, Stevens ! ” murmured Judge Gray, as a 
genuine round of applause followed this speech, ana 
General Clive shook him heartily by the hand. 

“ Look there,” said the soldier, huskily, pointing to 
where Marjorie stood, on Rex’s arm, as handsome a pair 
of lovers as ever gladdened a father’s sight : “ there, 
J udge, is the result of that morning’s work — and your 
best reward ! ” 

And as Judge Gray’s eyes followed the gesture, the 
beautiful old promise came back to him, in the same 
words which the Hebrew prophet had uttered long ago 
among the purple hills of Judea, — 

“ Cast thy bread upon the waters, and thou shall find it, AlH'lUi 
*ANY DAYS I ” 





























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